


i will learn (to love the skies I'm under)

by Cân Cennau (gwenynnefydd), Solovei



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: A+ parenting all around, Alien genitalia, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Anal Sex, Cardassian Anatomy, Constructed Languages, Cultural Differences, F/F, Fingering, Fixing Canon We Didn’t Like, Intersex Kelas Parmak, Lesbians, M/M, Magic, Masturbation, Mild Dom-Sub Dynamics, Mild Fisting, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Oral Sex, Penetrative Sex, Pining, Politics, Polyamory, Revolution, Self-indulgent Aesthetics, Semi-Public Sex, Tailed Cardassians, Trans Julian Bashir, Transphobia, Worldbuilding, Xenophilia, shifting pov, sibling relationships, so many lesbians, sorcery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-02 14:47:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 64,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16789060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwenynnefydd/pseuds/C%C3%A2n%20Cennau, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solovei/pseuds/Solovei
Summary: The feel of having a blade up against his throat nearly made him twitch away in fear, but he held still.Buckle down, Bashir,he told himself sternly.You asked for this, you needed this.---In which two middle-aged lizards accidentally acquire a unicorn through a series of bad political decisions.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Some of the Cardassian words in this fic were borrowed from the [Kardasi conlang](http://cardassianlanguage.tumblr.com/) by [tinsnip](http://tinsnip.tumblr.com/) and [Vyc](http://feltelures.tumblr.com/).  
> The [Cheða conlang](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14845317) was created by Cân Cennau.  
> Huge thanks go out to [ Shotenchu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shotenchu) for his editorial comments!

The small dressing room smelled of incense and some sort of flower. He could feel the heat on his skin, dry and ever-present. Julian stared absently at his own face in the mirror, the uncontrolled curls in his hair, the apprehensive brown eyes, the sharp cheekbones, all of which made him look much younger than he actually was. The servant behind him continued to fiddle with the various golden chains he had been adorned with, the Cardassian design on the clasps and charms complementing his clothes in a strange, unexpected way. It had been a fight to get his parents to allow him to wear a more masculine outfit versus the traditional Indian wedding sari they would have preferred, but he was glad to have won that battle. 

And after all, they weren’t here.

He wore the halter neck choli at the insistence of his mother. It was embroidered silk, held in place around his neck and rib cage by finely crafted gold cord. He didn’t like how it made his shoulders so apparent; then again, he had never liked his shoulders. His mother wanted him to wear it with a traditional long skirt and sari - even after all this time she continued to see Julian as the girl he once was, and not the self-made man he had become. He’d packed the skirt anyway, just to make her stop talking about it. Now, he wore knee-length salwar trousers, the waist adorned with jewelled scarves and sashes. Every step he took was a small orchestra, announcing his presence. 

As yet another anklet was locked in place above his jeweled slippers, Julian realized that he was finding it difficult to distinguish one Cardassian from another. None of the common gender markers he had been so used to noticing in himself and others seemed to work here. Everyone had fairly similar builds, striking and statuesque on their clawed feet. Some wore their raven-black hair short and slicked back, while others had elaborate hairstyles trailing down their scaled backs, with colours ranging from charcoal to dark chestnut brown. 

Armed only with the few basic phrases that Ambassador Dax had taught him on the trip, he didn’t even know the right questions to ask. The one helping him dress wore a matte bronze circlet, their clothes a fairly dull shade of blue. Julian didn’t know where to place this, and didn’t have the language to ask about it. 

Still, he figured he’d give it a shot. He'd even settle for small talk at this point. Perhaps they wouldn’t understand his native Punjabi, but everyone spoke Federation Common to some degree, right?

“I’m Julian Bashir. What’s your name?” He volunteered, a slightly nervous smile on his face as he tapped his chest.

The servant’s reflection looked at him quizzically; Julian clearly wasn’t understood.

“Could I see Dax? Is she around?” He tried again.

“ _tas-hUs. to'pey._ ” 

Julian sighed; he didn’t have to speak the language to understand the tone of that reply. He raised his wrist absently and fiddled with the bracelet holding the long billowing sleeve in place. The Cardassian servant must have put them on without him noticing - his father had given him these bracelets, when he was sixteen. They’d been locked in a trunk for years now, shoved there in a rage. Julian didn’t think he’d have to look at them again. He wondered how they had ended up in his suitcase. 

He thought suddenly of his home, for the first time in a way that wasn’t tinged with resentment. He had been so eager to leave that place, but now he found himself suddenly longing for familiar things - his room, the library, seeing Miles and Keiko and playing with Molly in the garden. 

The weight of the situation seemed to hit him all at once, in a way that had been pushed aside by the excitement of a new place, of travelling with Ambassador Dax, of finally _leaving._ He was getting married. To a Cardassian. To a Cardassian he had never met or seen. For most of his life he assumed marriage wasn’t in the cards for someone like him. There was no part of his current circumstance that he had anticipated or mentally prepared himself for. But, Julian had agreed to this, didn't he? So why now did this gnawing feeling well up in the pit of his stomach? He… wanted… this, didn’t he?

“Come. It is time,” the servant said, in heavily accented Common. 

Julian stood up, taking a long breath and letting it out. He heard a set of doors opening. A long gauzy veil was carefully draped over his head and the world became white.


	2. Chapter 2

Jadzia Dax arrived at the Bashir estate in the late morning, dressed in a finely tailored suit and carrying a small travelling case. If there were people who doubted her age when it came to doing her job, at least they would not doubt her style. The estate was remote, about an hour’s travel from the nearest town, but a small hub of activity. Around the main building, small additions to the structure seemed to house various projects and undertakings of the Baron; even as she rang the doorbell, a youth in work clothes rushed out of the door, summoned by various voices yelling from somewhere past the courtyard. An elderly footman glared at the boy in annoyance, then turned to Dax.

“May I help you, ma’am?” He looked at her clothes with slight distaste, but Jadzia pretended she didn’t notice.

“Good morning. Jadzia Dax, Federation Foreign Service. I’m here to speak to the Lord and Lady of the house.”

“Ah… of course.” The footman stepped aside and allowed her to enter, and together, they walked down the central hall. As she followed him, Dax noticed that the house was not maintained as well as it should’ve been for an estate this size. It _looked_ suitably ostentatious, but if one peered just a little closer, small imperfections would begin to show - a skewed painting here, a cracked vase there. The rugs she stepped on seemed several years old, and as they walked through a double set of doors, the hinges squawked something _awful._

The footman turned into a side wing and stopped before another set of doors, “If you’d please wait in the drawing room.”

Jadzia paused, lingering in the doorway. “The baron… has a child, correct?”

“Yes, he does - not a young child, you understand.”

“I would like to speak to them as well, if possible.”

“Certainly.”

Jadzia laid her suitcase on the table. As she waited, she examined the ornate bookshelves lining the walls. While the breadth of the subjects on display was admirable, most were simply introductory volumes, peppered here and there with some popular fiction and reference tomes. Plenty of odd gadgets and gizmos were dotted around the room, glimmering in the sunlight streaming from the large windows, but they looked… unused. Jadzia even noticed a nic-nack that was set upside-down, and she quickly stepped across the room and rightened it. She moved back the table, and examined the chairs that surrounded them - old, ornate, but not well looked after either, judging by the loose stitching on the embroidery.

Really, she didn’t know what to make of this situation, nor the business that had brought her to the house. For decades, Cardassia had been a quiet but menacing presence to the east. Hidden behind a volcanic mountain range, travel to and from the country was prohibitively difficult for anyone but the occasional diplomat or wealthy merchant. They had a rocky relationship with Bajor, with whom Cardassia shared a north-western border, but seemed to prefer to settle things without the Federation meddling. In essence, there was silence.

Until a month ago, when she received a letter from one Enabran Tain, head of one of Cardassia’s Great Houses, requesting her assistance in brokering a marriage between his oldest son and the child of Baron Richard Bashir. Jadzia read and re-read the letter for some time, trying to figure out if there was some hidden meaning she wasn’t aware of; Cardassians were fond of double-speak and disguising the truth as much as possible. And with this particular writer, Jadzia was certain something was up.

Of all the Castellans of the Great Houses, Tain was the most influential, and clearly ruled the roost - and although a marriage for diplomatic reasons was one thing, Bashir was far from a big player in the Federation. She could think of at least a dozen marriageable youths that would’ve been a better choice, but Tain had asked for this person, specifically. Her superiors at the Foreign Service were similarly confused, but they saw no reason to refuse. To them, even a tentative tie to the secretive nation was a step forward. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was sending someone into a very dangerous situation.

Jadzia heard footsteps, and turned to face the door, folding her hands behind her back.

A tall, lanky young man entered first, walking towards her sporting an excited smile and gleaming eyes. He couldn’t have been older than twenty-five, with soft messy curls and a youthful face. “Ambassador Dax, I presume? Good morning. I’m Julian Bashir.” He took her hand, looking as if he could almost bounce with excitement.

“Y-yes. How do you do?” Dax replied, a little discomfited by Julian’s apparent energy. Julian only grinned in response to her words, which did not make her feel much better.

“Are you from the Capital? I’ve always wanted to visit you know, I heard the theatre is _amazing_. And the architecture of course, you can really see the older styles there, not like here in the country I guess...”

Jadzia tried to smile back, but internally she sighed. Julian Bashir seemed to be one of those people who just liked to _babble,_ and he did so incessantly as they waited for the Baron and his wife. Heavens knew Jadzia had dealt with enough droning from state representatives to know that her only option was to wait until she could utilize a distraction. Luckily for her, the distraction came only a few minutes later, as the Baron and his wife entered the room. They were perhaps not exactly what Jadzia had expected - while the estate was starting to look worn down, the pair were dressed in extravagant clothes, far more expensive than what _she_ could afford on an ambassador’s wage. The woman - Amsha, if the letter was right - wore a dark burgundy sari, covered in beading and gold lace, whilst her husband, Richard, was clothed in a complementary suit, the flashiness of the sari matched by the gold shine of cufflinks, buttons and a pocket watch. Jadzia did not care much for their ostentatious mode of dress - but as Amsha saw her son and rolled her eyes at the ceiling, Jadzia sent her a mental thank-you for saving her from further small talk.

“Dear, _please_ , leave the ambassador alone,” Amsha Bashir said in a long-suffering tone of voice, and Julian promptly shut up. Amsha spread one gauzy, spangled arm out to the chairs, and the four of them settled down, Amsha and her husband on the divan, and Jadzia in the armchair nearby. Julian sat in a chair apart from his parents.

“Right then, Ambassador, what can we do for you?” Richard Bashir began. “If this is about that supposed land dispute with LaForge, I already told him I’d pay him the extra taxes on it.”

“Oh no, nothing like that.” Jadzia paused here to make sure she had the family’s undivided attention, “I am here to present a marriage proposal from House Tain of Cardassia.”

Everyone in the room looked at her, stunned. The silence was deafening. Jadzia had been expecting such a reaction, and she allowed a few moments for the information to sink in.

“I understand that this is… unexpected. I was quite surprised to receive the letter as well,” she explained, hoping to break the ice that had formed around this conversation.

Amsha was the first to speak. “But… Marriage? I don’t think…” she muttered, grasping the end of her scarf in one hand. Richard placed a hand over his wife’s in support.

“Cardassia, that’s not… part of the Federation, now is it?”

“You are correct,” Jadzia nodded, “We had never been able to establish clear lines of communication, partly due to the remoteness of the terrain. They have allowed a small embassy in the capital city, and entered into some diplomatic arrangements with Bajor in the past, so we are hoping that this marriage can foster an increased -”

“I want to do it,” Julian declared suddenly, interrupting Jadzia’s carefully prepared speech on the many benefits this marriage will bring to all involved parties.

“Please, Julia, you don’t have to-”

“My name is _Julian!”_ the young man hissed abruptly, a flash of anger across his otherwise comely face. Jadzia watched this with interest, but did not remark on the exchange.

Richard spoke up, perhaps slightly louder than before, “What’s in it for us, though? Diplomacy’s all nice and good of course, but you understand - I have property and lands to maintain.”

Jadzia opened her briefcase and took out the letter she received from Tain, along with an itemized list of what was being offered in exchange for Julian’s hand in marriage. She handed this to the Baron, and he began examining the letter closely as the Ambassador spoke. “There is, of course, a sizeable dowry. House Tain is one of the most prominent in Cardassia, with a seat on their ruling council as well as a large estate near the capital city.”

Dax watched as the two parents leant together to read the document. She knew the exact moment when they found the dowry size, as their eyes went as wide as dinner plates. They began to mutter among themselves, discussing what it offered, but Dax had been in this business long enough to know that they’d be agreeing to a dowry that size, even ifAmsha Bashir looked incredibly worried and teary-eyed. But the younger Bashir didn’t seem to share their interest in the dowry - rather, he was staring out of the window, knee bouncing in… anticipation? Nerves? Dax coughed to get their attention, and the expressions of the family seemed to speak volumes. Julian, looking more excited than he would be if he knew what he was in for; Amsha, looking tearful and terrified for her only child, and Richard, who seemed the most enthusiastic about the offer of several purebred cardassian riding hounds.

“Can I assume the dowry is acceptable?” Dax asked politely. Richard took one last look at Amsha, before nodding.“It’s more than enough.” he replied. “Plenty for us. Julia should be well cared for there.”

Over from his chair, Dax heard the youngest Bashir hiss _“Julian…_ ” but the older pair seemed not to notice, nor pay attention to him.

“Can we at least come along to attend the wedding?” Amsha asked.

“I’m afraid the entry requirements into Cardassia are very strict. There is a writ of entry for Julian, signed by Enabran Tain himself, and I am allowed limited travel into the country by my diplomatic permit, but I was unable to procure paperwork for the two of you. I… I apologize.” Jadzia explained, her voice faltering. It was always difficult to ask people to make these kinds of decisions, ones ‘for the good of the Federation.’ She knew too well that if they refused, it was her job to continue trying to convince them until they said yes. For all that they didn’t know about Cardassia, it was very clear that making an enemy of them would be even worse.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Julian, who had been quiet since the small outburst, shifting to sit on the edge of his seat, practically vibrating as if waiting for a chance to speak. In some ways, Dax felt sorry for him. He was a bright young man, who was clearly wasting away at this forgotten country estate. To say that this wasn’t up to him would be an understatement. Really, none of it was up to anyone in this room. Tain held all the cards in this scenario; the letter was written with the assumption that the marriage would go ahead, because the alternative did not need to be spelled out.

“Of course, it would not be forever… I assume a... visit could be arranged. After a time,” Jadzia offered. The Baron and his wife spoke quietly amongst each other for a few minutes, both looking over the letter. She noticed Julian tap his fingers on the arm of the chair impatiently, glancing from her to them and back again. Maybe I didn’t give him enough credit, she thought. Maybe he did know the stakes at play here. He seemed to want his parents to agree to this as much as she did, even if it was perhaps for a different reason.

As soon as it looked like the Baron was about to speak, Julian stood up from his chair. “Father, listen. You always say how you want me to be your legacy, and - maybe this is it. Maybe this is what I’m meant to do to ensure that! This would be a huge step forward for the Federation, and I… I want to do my part. Who knows what this could lead to? Improved trade, humanitarian programs, maybe even welcoming our Cardassian neighbors into the Federation someday. And you… you get to say, ‘My son made that happen.’ ”

He looked at Julian as if he didn’t want to admit he was right. Then, he took a pen from the breast pocket of his jacket and signed his name on the indicated line. “I don’t have a son,” he spat, before walking out of the room.

BREAK

Julian watched his father leave with a sinking feeling in his chest. Father still didn’t understand, and probably didn’t _want_ to understand. Father preferred it when they pretended they were a happy family and there were no secrets in the house, and Julian pretended to be a good dutiful daughter. Although in Julian’s defence, “I’m your son not your daughter, please call me Julian” was a _far_ less explosive secret than “We sewed illegal sorcerer’s magic into your heart which completely changed your abilities and identity.” Then again, if this wedding was successful, he wouldn’t have to worry about what his father wanted - this could easily be his escape to somewhere that didn’t judge him on his gender identity, or to somewhere where he didn’t have to look at the face of his _creator_ every day.

He turned to his mother with what he hoped was a reassuring smile on his face. “Mother, don’t cry,” he said, settling in the space his father had recently vacated. “I’ll be fine. I’ll make you proud out there.”

Amsha still looked tearful and worried. “I don’t like the idea of you going out there by yourself,” she said. “I feel like I’d be sending you to your death.”

“Cardassians aren’t _that_ bad. Why would they want to kill me?”

“I don’t know. You’ve seen what they say about Cardassia in the news - about their assassins and spies in the Borderlands.”

“I’m certain they’re just stories. Exaggerations.”

“I know, but what if they’re not? I don’t want to send you there, then be accused of getting rid of my own child.”

 _No, you got rid of me twenty years ago,_ Julian thought bitterly, but tamped it down. Perhaps if his parents hadn’t seen fit to tear him open and sew sorcery inside him, he’d be a little more sympathetic.

Perhaps seeing the stalemate, Ambassador Dax cleared her throat. “We’ve taken every precaution to make certain he’s safe.” she said, reassuring and warm. “If he gets into trouble, he can always go to the Embassy.”

Amsha still looked troubled, but Julian could feel her resolve crumbling. He reached out, and patted her hand.

“I’ll be alright, Mum.” he smiled. “This is my big chance. I’ll be happy there. I’ll make you proud.”

There was a pause, before Amsha slowly nodded. She removed her hand from Julian’s, and picked up the pen, signing her name on the paper. At the sight of his mother’s loopy signature, Julian could feel his heart soar. This was it! He was leaving! He was getting away from here, to somewhere where he could be himself! And all he had to do was enter a political marriage - if Father was in his right mind, he’d declare it a bargain.

“Right then,” Julian gave Ambassador Dax his most winning smile, “When do I leave?”


	3. Chapter 3

“Kelas, I really should tell you-” 

“Elim, love. _Don’t_ tell me something important while I’m fisting you.” 

The curtains were drawn, and the bedroom was dark, lit only by a small number of candles set on both bedside cabinets. The covers of the bed were drawn back, but the pillows were left as is, providing a perfect resting place for the black-haired head of a very aroused Cardassian. The Cardassian squirmed deeper into the pillows, on his knees, arse up, tail raised and round belly pressed into the mattress. Behind him, another Cardassian was pressing kisses to his arse, curly brown hair mussed from sex, vitiligo-dappled hand deep in the plush warmth of the Elim’s _chlūäch_. 

“I’m just saying- _oh.”_ Elim pushed back at a particularly deep thrust of Kelas’ fist. “ _Oh,_ do that _again_ -”

“Only if you hold your tongue until I’m done,” Kelas replied, pressing another kiss to Elim’s arse. “Or do I need to fetch the gag?”

They thrust their hand in deep, and whatever Elim wanted to tell them was lost in a deep, heady moan. Kelas always liked it when they could get Elim like this, all desperate and vocal for his pleasure. Occasionally, Kelas feared someone would hear their secretive trysts, but the size of the Tain household made certain that any sound of their activities would not be heard. Elim had already gotten him off - a face between their thighs and a tail over a shoulder had sorted that - and now all they wanted to do was work their partner up to the same pleasure. Elim’s _phmūäð_ was already everted and dripping, and with every thrust of their hand into the space beneath it, into his _chlūäch_ , Elim would whine and grind himself deeper on Kelas’ fist. And Kelas had been doing this long enough to know when Elim was close to orgasm. 

They bent their head, and began intermixing their kisses with bites to the plush area. They turned their wrist, seeking the sensitive frill of scaling at the base of Elim’s, and smiled at Elim’s groan when he found it. They began to thrust faster, catching the frill with each thrust, and Elim ground back, panting, desperately seeking his release. With each kiss, bite, and thrust, Kelas could feel Elim’s orgasm approaching, and thrust more forcefully, riding Elim to the precipice. It was not long before Elim cried out, and his _chlūäch_ spasmed around Kelas’ fist as he came, his _phmūäð_ drizzlinghis cum between his legs, over his belly and onto the sheets. 

Kelas pulled their hand out, and Elim sagged into the sheets with a happy sigh. After wiping both their bodies and the sheets clean with a nearby cloth, they crawled up the bed to cuddle into Elim’s side, pulling the duvet up with them. Elim, once he’d come back to himself, rolled onto his side, pulling Kelas close, pressing a kiss to their messy nest of hair and letting his tail curl around their ankle. Kelas felt him smile against their forehead, and smiled. 

“Good?” they asked, and Elim laughed. 

“Wonderful, as always,” he replied. “Thank you, my dear.” 

They were silent for a while, drinking in each other’s comfort and warmth, satiated and calm. But as they settled, Kelas remembered Elim’s attempt to tell them something mid-coitus, and with a sigh, they shifted to look Elim in the eye. 

“Now,” they said. “what were you going to tell me earlier?” 

Elim closed his eyes, and Kelas knew then that this was something serious. “You’re not going to like it.” 

“I dislike many things you say, but that's never stopped you from telling me.” 

“You're _really_ not going to like it.” 

“Let me decide for myself?” 

He sighed. “Father’s arranged a marriage for me.”

Something cold lodged itself in the pit of Kelas’ stomach. “I see.” 

“He told me yesterday, and it’s arranged for next week.” Elim rolled onto his back, looking glum. “It’s with a Federation citizen, the child of a baron. He must’ve been planning it for _months.”_

“Months?” Kelas frowned. “Why? He’s never shown an interest in the Federation. Nor in marrying you off, either.”

“No. But I suppose after his only legitimate heir married a commoner, he wanted to ensure I married well. To save face.” 

“But the _Federation?_ We have few ties with the Federation - and less since Bajor began objecting to our occupation of their lands.”

“I suppose it was safest. Marrying me to one of the other Great Houses would give that house far too much power.”

“Marry outside the Union, no loss of power.” Kelas sighed. “Smart.” 

Elim hesitated. “But it’s more than that - Kelas, I think he may have… realised what _we_ are doing.”

“You think he found out about us?” 

“Mmm.” 

The cold thing that manifested in Kelas’ gut clawed its way into their throat. Kelas was not one prone to panic, but right now all they felt was _fear._

“ _Chÿlch.”_

“My sentiment exactly.” Elim turned his head, and looked directly at Kelas. “You know I’m going to have to go through with it. You know Father would rather me marry a foreign baron’s son rather than his household physician.” 

And Kelas knew that too, but that didn’t stop the feeling that their heart was tearing just a little bit. “I don’t suppose upping and running away to Indar with me is viable?” Kelas joked, but it came out flat. Still, Elim laughed a little. 

“I’m afraid not.” He paused. “You know who my father is. You know what he can do.”

“I suppose I’m lucky to be alive.” 

Elim rolled back over, and pulled Kelas back into a cuddle. “My father is smart. He knows if he arranges your death, he’d lose me.”

“And if we leave, he would’ve lost you anyway, and there would be nothing stopping him from arranging both our deaths.”

“Exactly.” Gently, Elim pressed a kiss to their head, but Kelas still felt cold. “I love you. I like you being alive.”

“I love you too.” Kelas sighed, feeling thoroughly miserable. “What happens to us now?” 

“I don’t doubt that my father is trying to trap me here with this marriage. I also don’t doubt that if he suspects we continue our tryst after my marriage, he will arrange your… disappearance.”

“So we break up. Alright.” 

It was not alright. Kelas felt like their heart was being flayed alive, and they sniffed, trying not to cry. They felt Elim curl them tighter against his chest, which was both better and worse - better, feeling his comfort, and worse because now there was no distance between them, and Kelas could not help but break down in tears. Elim’s arms were trembling minutely around them, and even though their loud sobs he could tell Elim was crying too. 

“I don’t-” Kelas tried to say between heaving sobs. “I don’t _want-_ ” 

“I know.” Elim murmured. “I don’t want to leave you either.” 

The two of them stayed there, entwined, crying, grieving for what was lost, until they fell asleep, exhausted. Only when dawn broke did Kelas awaken and, with a heavy gravity, untangled themselves from Elim and quietly left the room. 

BREAK

The bed was cold and empty by the time Elim woke up the next morning. He lay in a post-emotional haze, staring up at the ceiling of his four canopy bed, feeling sick to his stomach, missing the lover who’d cried against his shoulder last night. Their relationship was done. All those late night confessions, debates, love-making sessions, walks in the moonlight, were gone. And all because of his father’s grand designs for his son’s life. Elim felt thoroughly miserable over it. 

He rolled over, and pulled the duvet over his head. He was not getting out of bed for anything today. 

He perhaps was quite comfortable in his self imposed exile, but the rest of the world wasn’t - and by the rest of the world, he meant his father. The morning passed uneventfully - the servants brought him breakfast in bed when he didn’t make his way to the dining hall, and at lunchtime they took his untouched breakfast and replaced it with tea, and a lighter spread of _halakla_ scones and _podUl_ jam. But soon after Elim had managed to drink half of the rapidly cooling tea, there came a rapping at the door, and there was no mistaking who it was. 

“Elim,” Enabran Tain’s voice was loud, even with the door shut. “I’m coming in.”

Normally Elim would make an effort to at least look presentable, but he was in such a sorry state that he really did not care about appearances right now, and instead he watched from over the lip of his covers as his father strolled into the room. Enabran Tain certainly held some physical resemblance to his son, with his black hair and round physique, but unlike Elim, his face was more toadish and self-satisfied. He took one look at his son under the duvet and sighed. 

“Lazing around, Elim?” 

_As if you don’t know what happened,_ Elim mentally groused. Out loud, he said: “I’m ill. Doctor Parmak has seen me, and prescribed bed rest.” 

“I pray that you don’t pass it on.” 

“Thank you for your sympathy.” He watched as his father strolled around his bed, and went to stare out the window. “Did you have duties for me? I’m afraid I won't be able to take any on for a few days.”

Tain frowned at something outside. “No,” he said. “I came to talk about your upcoming nuptials.” 

“They’re a week away, and there are still things to discuss?”

“Of course.” 

“Don’t tell me - you want me to pick out the flower arrangements? Try Edosian orchids and White Stars of Night.”

“Putting those together will make a rather deadly spore cloud when cross-pollinated.” 

“Exactly. Both my spouse-to-be and I will be made terribly ill, and neither of us will need to go through with this _farce_ of an enjoinment.”

_“Elim.”_

Elim had been living with his father for long enough to know when Tain had had enough of his jokes. “Sorry, Father.” he mumbled, and he curled deeper into the duvet. He heard Tain sigh with annoyance, and he tried not to flinch. 

“This enjoinment,” Tain murmured, after a moment, “Will be an important step in establishing diplomatic ties with the Federation.”

“It will also provide the Federation with opportunities for leverage. Particularly with the Bajoran problem.” 

“That does not concern me,” Tain waved his hand as if swatting a fly, “There are a great many benefits to this union that are _worth_ giving up some leverage.” 

“Like what?” 

Tain did not reply, and Elim took that to mean that it was either a daft question or that his father had no intention of telling him. 

“What else do I need to know?” he asked, after a pause. A ghost of a smile passed across Tain’s face. 

“The guest list has been finalised. All the Great Houses will be in attendance, bar House Dukat-” 

_“Tragic.”_

“Yes, well, if that hadn’t been that unfortunate incident with Procul Dukat…”

“That _you_ organized.” 

Tain pretended not to hear him. “But yes, the guest list is finalized, the exarch has been contacted, your spouse to be is enroute, and Sokoa will be taking you to arrange your wedding dress.”

Elim actually groaned at that. “Father, I can choose my own wedding clothes.”

“And I’m certain you’ll choose something fashionable rather than suitable.” Tain’s lip curled on the word ‘fashionable.’ “Sokoa will be waiting this afternoon. I expect you to be dressed and downstairs to greet her after lunch.” 

“Father, I am _ill_. I can’t go.” 

“If you were ill, you wouldn’t have the energy to argue.” Tain moved away from the window with a sharp nod in his direction, “Downstairs. One hour. And I _will_ know if you are late.” 

Tain left the room with his usual pomp, and Elim let his head fall onto the pillow, somehow feeling worse than he did when he woke up. This situation could not get _worse._


	4. Chapter 4

For Julian, the weeks leading up to the wedding were a blur, and it was only now he could appreciate that _yes, he was getting married._ The room was filled with people, but Julian could only see vague shapes behind the veil. He tried to remember what Ambassador Dax had told him, about how he should walk and the lines he should say - he had been trying to commit them to memory, trying to force his tongue around the strange consonants. Somewhere, music was playing, but all he could focus on was trying to walk in a straight line with the appropriate pace and gait. He saw another figure coming towards him from the opposite side and tried to match their pace. 

This, he assumed, was Elim Garak, the man he was to marry.

After the required number of steps, he stopped and turned, with his back to what he assumed was the audience. Even if he couldn’t see them, he could _feel_ them looking at him. His knees felt weak, like he might collapse at any moment if he stopped willing himself to stand up straight. Jadzia had explained to him that weddings were usually officiated by the head of the province, the exarch, and Julian guessed that the dry, reedy voice was that exarch. Julian tried to listen carefully to the Kardasi, but he could only manage to pick out a few words here and there; State... contract... Cardassia...

The exarch suddenly stopped talking, and Julian saw hands reach towards the veil and lift it up. 

The first thing Julian noticed were the eyes. Such a light blue as to seem almost grey, they fixed his wandering gaze and held it with an intoxicating mixture of composure and menace. It took him a few seconds to break free, at which point Julian could take in the rest of him. He wore a resplendent brocade tunic in a rich shade of blue, and black leggings, with gold bands encircling his tail. A scarf of the same material as Julian’s veil was draped over his shoulders, white and embroidered. Like most Cardassians, he did not wear shoes, but rather his clawed feet were wrapped in intricate cloth strips around the arch of the foot and further up the ankles. Elim Garak looked a far cry from what he had gathered to be the Cardassian standard of beauty: his rounded face and soft belly made him seem friendly and approachable, rather than the tall, sharp, angry Cardassians he’d seen in the news. By human standards, Julian would’ve pegged him as a favoured uncle, but something in his expression looked far too unnerving to Julian to ever want him as a relative. Elim was looking him up and down too, blue eyes roaming his body and face, and Julian felt an instinctive urge to pull down his choli - the choli was long enough to cover the scars from the magic sewn inside him, but that didn’t stop the distinct feeling that his spouse-to-be was looking straight into his soul. 

He chose, instead, to look around the hall. Almost immediately, he spotted Jadzia, wearing a dressier version of the suit she had arrived in, and a billowing white feather in her hair. She looked watchful, wary, as if daring anyone present to break the script. In the middle stood a wizened old woman, thin-haired but with an exceptional presence, who had now began chanting again. On the other side of the exarch stood an older Cardassian man wearing a magnificent gold robe. He shared the rounded face of his betrothed, but none of his apparent friendliness. Was this Enabran Tain? He looked important.

The speech continued. Julian couldn’t understand as many of the words in this part, but the sounds were becoming slightly more familiar to him. He could now more easily tell apart the various hisses and sibilants that Kardasi was so known for, though he was probably a long way away from replicating them himself.

The exarch opened a case containing two curved blades - about dagger length, but their ornate design suggested they were more ceremonial than actual combat weapons. He swallowed hard, forced himself to appear as calm as he could even as his hand gripped the hilt of the blade. As he did so, he watched Garak do the same - and yet, those menacing blue eyes seemed to hold in them something else now, a sort of… reassurance? He thought he could see the slightest of nods as they both raised the dagger to the other’s throat. The feel of having a blade up against his throat nearly made him twitch away in fear, but he held still. _Buckle down, Bashir_ , he told himself sternly. _You asked for this, you needed this._

The exarch spoke again. “ _ka sicus’te’I peret’Iv ta’ dexre’Ieh Chax ka kasicus‘ik tas’lo’Iv loxKardasia, he’ ka peret’I katudhezema’ik sepKardasia ga’er. ka s’mari’er’o_?[1]”

“ _nu s’mari’er._ ” Elim Garak said, his voice steady, eyes not leaving Julian’s. This was his last chance to escape now, before he swore fealty to Cardassia and Elim Garak. But he kept himself rooted to the spot - there was no way he was turning back now. No way was he going back to his life before. 

“ _nu s’mari’er_.” Julian echoed, resolute. 

BREAK

After their vows were said, the heads of other Houses stepped up to the dais to present gifts. Julian's head was spinning with adrenaline, so he only caught a couple of names; Ghemor, Damar, Rejal. The line for gifts seemed never ending, but the items gifted seemed to be of great interest to everyone else in the room - or at least to the photographer jumping around trying to get a good shot. Julian zoned out until the end, when Jadzia stepped up and presented a symbolic gift from the Federation, this time to Enabran Tain - a smooth silk scarf, embroidered with all kinds of thread. It didn't look too special to Julian, but Tain seemed to be particularly pleased with it, nodding to Jadzia with a genuine smile. He then indicated to a servant, who scurried up, presenting a box to Jadzia with a hasty bow. Julian could not see what was in the box, but whatever it was made Jadzia's eyebrows rise almost to her hairline. Julian supposed that was a good sign. 

The music changed; it would seem that the ceremony was beginning to end. He saw people filing out of the ballroom one by one. At his side, Garak did not move; Julian decided to stand still as well. As they left, he wondered how that many people could fit into this room? It looked much smaller now it had when he was entering it. Behind him, he heard the exarch speak to Jadzia and Castellan Tain. He turned to see Ambassador Dax produce the papers his father had signed, and adding her own signature as well as the federation seal to them. The older Cardassian read over the document carefully before also signing it. He saw Garak breathe a barely audible sigh of relief as the exarch bowed to Tain before also leaving the room. 

“I think that went well.” Ambassador Dax said, in Federation Common.

“Indeed. A prompt and punctual enjoinment is the mark of a great host.” Tain agreed. He sounded friendly, but much like Garak, there was something off-putting about him. He walked up to Julian and put his gray, clawed hands on either side of his face. 

“Welcome to House Tain, my child. And welcome to Cardassia.”

Julian shivered. Tain seemed to take some pleasure in the movement, a smile twisting his features, but in the end let his hands drop.

“Come,” he said, “I’ll introduce you to the household.” 

As if out of nowhere, a tall, thin Cardassian appeared just as Tain gestured in her direction. “This is Sokoa Tovem, the seneschal here.” 

_A steward?_ Julian thought to himself. _House Tain must have been rich to need one of those._ Sokoa stepped forward and bowed, her glossy black hair barely even shifting from it's strict formation of braids and knots. Julian noticed she wore a dark blue tunic just a little more elaborate than the Cardassian who dressed him - clearly Sokoa was of a higher rank than regular servants. 

“Should you want for anything, I am usually found near the library,” the seneschal replied in heavily accented Common. Julian nodded absently. Tain went on to introduce some other members of his staff. Julian was usually good at remembering names, but right now he wasn’t even sure he knew his own. 

“And this…” Tain gestured to a person standing slightly apart from the others. “This is Dr. Kelas Parmak, my personal physician.” 

The first thing that struck Julian about Kelas Parmak was that they looked so very different from any other Cardassian he’d seen before. Leaning on a cane, wearing a sensible kaftan and comfortable cardigan, Kelas seemed almost elderly, although Julian would put money on them not being much older than Elim. They wore their long brown hair in a bun with small braids connecting to its base, and one long braid hanging by the right side of their face. Rather than the variations of gray skin sported by all the other cardassians, their coloration was blotchy, with patches of white and dark grey intermixing like a jigsaw. Kelas didn’t bow, but lowered their head respectfully. 

“ _nukairoik ga’I neravell empok, tUr raplesavell._ ” They murmured, “ _vinnu nuka visf’I; hi ga’Ier sedveles.”_

“His office is on the third floor, by the stairs. See him if you feel unwell.” Elim translated, at Julian’s confused frown. Something was… off about the doctor’s Kardasi; even with his cursory knowledge, Julian could tell that much. Still, he nodded politely. 

“Well then,” Tain announced to the gathered staff. “Let us not get in the way any more than we have to. Ambassador, I believe we have things to discuss, if you’ll follow me to my study.” 

“Of course - I’ll be right there, Castellan.” Dax said with a slight bow. She turned to Julian and put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Be well, Julian. Should you need anything, please write. I’ve left my address with Sokoa, as well as instructions for how to reach the Federation Embassy.” 

Julian nodded, feeling evermore lost and confused. As Dax began to follow Tain out, he felt as though the last thread of familiarity in the world was unraveling. For a few moments, the newly married couple stood amid the large empty hall in silence, looking everywhere but at each other. Servants lingered on the edge of the room, clearly needing to come in to clean it. 

“Shall we?” Garak said, offering a clawed hand to Julian. He swallowed the lump in his throat, and took it as they began to walk to the eastern end of the ballroom, and down a hallway.

Garak’s bedroom was lavish even by Julian’s standards, done in rich colors and patterns. A large canopy bed occupied one side of the room, opposite which was a clothes closet that stretched from wall to wall. There was a small table and chaise lounge for reading, a fireplace, and a large mirror set upon a dressing table. A large, ornate window sat on the wall opposite the door, looking out onto what Julian assumed was the garden, although all it showed right now was gloom. 

“So… what happens now?” Julian asked, attempting to pull off the gauzy veil. It seemed to be attached with some sort of clip in addition to the jewelled circlet, so he had to feel around behind his head and tug a few times before it came loose.Part of him knew the answer to his question already - or thought it knew, anyway. Ambassador Dax did not talk about this part of the ceremony, but it was pretty obvious to Julian what tended to happen after weddings. He’d read enough romance novels to know what was implied. Then again, maybe the Cardassians did things differently. More and more he was finding out that all the assumptions he had built his life on were suddenly no longer useful to him. 

Garak, standing by the door, looked slightly uncomfortable. “Well… I’m afraid in that regard our cultures are quite similar.”

“... Oh.” 

“Indeed.” Elim walked inside, passing Julian to sit, fully clothed on the edge of the bed. “I understand that you may be nervous-” 

_Nerves wasn't half the issue,_ Julian thought to himself, but kept his mouth shut. 

“-but I assure you I will try and make this as pleasurable as I can.” 

“I guess we can’t wait a little while?” Julian asked, a little tentative. “Get to know each other a little better?” 

Elim looked more uncomfortable than he had before. “My father… has methods of knowing if we have consummated our enjoinment. He will desire assurance of his... investment.”

Whatever those _methods_ were, Julian was certain they were as invasive and creepy as he thought they might be. He set the veil down on the dresser carefully, and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

“Sir, I-”

“Please, we’re Enjoined now. ‘Elim’ is fine.” Elim interrupted, holding up a hand. Julian rolled his eyes briefly, as he had been trying to summon his courage. This was, by some strange circumstance, the first time he’d had to explain his body to a potential partner. 

“Elim, there is something I need to tell you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] translation - "You enter this pact/Enjoinment knowing a day may come when you may need to kill your Enjoined for Cardassia, and that your first loyalty is to Cardassia, then to your Enjoined. Do you swear?"


	5. Chapter 5

Elim watched as his new enjoined seemed to struggle with his words. The younger man’s clear nerves only served to highlight how _young_ he was - he could not be older than twenty-five! No more than a hatchling compared to him! Elim was going to have words with his father about appropriate spouses, at least in his head if not out loud to Enabran Tain. He watched as Julian squirmed on the spot, and tried to exude patience and calm. 

“I may… not be exactly what you’re expecting.” Julian finally said, looking down at his feet. 

“I’ve never been with a Human before. I have no expectations.” That was not entirely true - Elim had perused the few books Kelas had on non-Cardassian anatomy, and had managed to figure out from diagrams what things should look like. “If you think you, perhaps… are _not_ well-endowed-”

“I- No! It’s not that- well, it _is_ that, but not in the way you’re thinking-” Julian was now beet red in addition to looking anxious. “I’m just… I’m not your typical Human male.”

“No?” 

“I… I was born female, and transitioned to be a man. I don’t know if you’ve read anything about Human anatomy but I… don’t have the anatomy of an average Human male.”

Elim, surprised, blinked. “Oh.” 

“Oh?” Julian frowned, and when no other words were forthcoming, looked up and peered at Elim. “Is… that a good ‘oh’?”

“It’s an ‘oh, I thought you were going to tell me something serious’. Like you had a sexually communicable disease, or-” 

“This is important!” Julian frowned. “Isn’t it?” 

“It is important to you, clearly.” Elim looked at him curiously. “Is it an important thing in your culture?” 

“Yes. I mean, being like me - it’s not common, and certainly not acceptable, but gender is an important part of our culture and society.”

“How odd.” Elim frowned. “That does explain why your sexes often look very different. You perhaps noticed that among Cardassians, there are… fewer differences between us.”

“I could barely tell anyone apart!” Julian laughed, and some of his anxiety seemed to dissipate. “How do you tell? Or do you just not know?” 

“It isn’t something we need to know, unless we are planning a family. And then it’s only a question of mechanics.”

“Are there… people like me here? Cardassians who have altered their sex?”

“Perhaps. I… have met others who do not fit average definitions of sex, but you are the first I’ve met who transitioned from one end of the spectrum to the other.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“If it makes you feel any better, my desires are… not limited to one gender.” Elim gave Julian a warm smile. “If you tell me you are a man, I believe you. You are as much a man to me as any other man in Cardassia is.”

What anxiety remained in Julian’s body fled, and he almost sagged where he stood. “Thank you, Elim.”

“It is no trouble.” Elim patted the bed beside him. “Now, why don’t you come over here and allow us to consummate our bond?”

“Well…. I guess we don’t … really have a choice,” Julian said, sitting down on the opposite side of the bed from Elim. He began to undress slowly, first taking off the waistwrap with its many jingling chains, then bending over to take off each slipper. Elim watched this for a few moments before raising a clawed finger.

“Ah, would you… Like me to help, perchance?” 

“No, I- I’d rather do this myself. I think it would be… strange for you to do it.”

“Mm. Fair enough,” he muttered, pulling the white scarf off his shoulder and tossing it nonchalantly over the back of a chair before going to his own side of the bed. Reaching around, he undid the clasps on the gold bands adorning his tail, cursing softly a few times when the one near the base proved difficult to grasp. As a younger man, he had often had pictured his own wedding night, and this was rarely how it went. One by one, he began undoing the buttons on his tunic, working from the bottom up and thankful for once that there were so many. 

He had gotten the last few buttons undone and was about to remove the garment when he happened to look over his shoulder at Julian. He had removed most of the jewelry, and now sat on the edge of the bed, arms folded his over his chest, as if protectively.

“Is something the matter?”

“Well-” Julian hesitated, his voice sounding small. “Something... happened to me when i was a child, and I have this scar…” 

“Is that all? I assure you,” Elim said, standing up and turning around. The tunic hung open, revealing a soft unscaled belly, slightly lighter grey than the rest of his skin. He shrugged out of it and turned slightly, so that Julian could see the long white scar breaking an otherwise neat rows of scales running up his side. “It’s of no consequence to me.”

“I’m … sorry this happened to you.” Julian said softly. When he turned back to his side of the bed, Elim glimpsed, for a split second, a branching scar over the man’s sternum. 

“It was a long time ago.” He said finally, stepping away to hang up his tunic. With a tired sigh, he set to undoing the wrappings on his feet and peeling off the leggings, laying out the garments carefully on the back of a chair so as not to wrinkle them. 

“Well… shall we proceed, then?” 

He watched as Julian turned to face him, taking him all in as if for the first time. Elim wasn’t modest about his body, but he was well aware that it didn’t exactly live up to most people’s idea of what a Cardassian looked like. 

Julian tilted his head slightly. “Um… Where…” 

Elim raised an eye ridge. “Is something wrong?” 

A blush crept up to Julian’s face, and he looked away. “I guess I didn’t…. I hadn’t considered that Cardassians might be built differently…. Down there.” He chuckled nervously, throwing his hands up. “You understand, we mostly just see pictures of your people in the paper wearing armor and scowling; I doubt anyone looks at that and thinks ‘Oh I wonder what’s in their pants’.”

Elim smiled patiently and climbed onto the bed, patting a space a little away from him for Julian to join him. “Well, I suppose if I must be your tutor, so be it.” 

Julian sat down obediently on the bed, and scooted across. He was a delightful shade of red to Elim's eyes, and that made him more endearing. Elim pulled him closer so that they settled in a loose embrace. 

“See, here.” Elim slid his hand down his body to his groin, until his fingers met a slight bump in scaling. “Our genitalia is internal. This is the entrance - the _sūl.”_

“ _Sūl?”_ Julian frowned. “That doesn't sound like Kardasi.” 

“It's not. A… previous partner introduced me to words for it in their native Cheða. I prefer them.”

“Oh.” Julian reached out, then hesitated. “May I…”

“You can touch.” Elim replied, with a reassuring smile. “You'll be touching later, anyway.”

Julian's fingertips were blazing hot against Elim's reptilian scales, and Elim could not help but let out an appreciative murmur. Julian trailed his fingers down over his belly and across his _chuva._ As his fingers rubbed along the sensitive entrance to his genital space, Elim tried and failed to stop a needy whine. 

“Sorry!” Julian said, quickly pulling his hand back. “Did I hurt you?” 

“No, no - it's… an erogenous zone. Sensitive.”

Julian's eyes went wide as saucers. “Oh. _Oh._ ”

Julian's fingers went back to exploring the _sūl_ , gentle now, almost ghosting across the rough scaling, teasing and frustrating Elim. But Elim was nothing if not patient, and he did not complain - he didn't want to spook Julian, after all. The seam of his genital space was probed with light touches, and Elim could barely stifle a moan as Julian's fingers touched a small bump on the inside of his genital space. 

“Is that…” 

“Yes.” Elim shifted as Julian probed further. “You're in the genital space - the _chlūäch._ ”

“And that's the internal phallus?”

“The _phmūäð,_ yes. Different names for different sizes - _amelle, mëūë,_ and _phmūäð_ for largest.”

“How deep does it go?” Julian's fingers slid further is, and Elim hissed. 

“Fairly deep.” Elim managed to say. “I must admit, this is the first time someone has fingered me _before_ they kissed me.” 

“Oh!” Julian withdrew his fingers. “Would you like me to kiss you?” 

Elim didn't bother to reply, instead pulling him down for a kiss, guiding his shoulders down until he fell back onto the bed. Julian let out a small gasp of surprise, though he didn’t pull away. Elim ran a careful hand down his stomach, finally starting to undo the lacing at the opening of his trousers.

Julian grabbed his wrist suddenly, pushing the clawed hand away. “Not… not there.” He warned. The Cardassian blinked in surprise, but withdrew obediently.

“Tell me what to do, then?” 

Julian let out a nervous breath, half-laugh half-panic, and sat up again. “I… Look, I’m sorry, I haven’t... done this a lot. Not, you know, properly. Just some drunken fumbling at masquerade balls, things like that,” he explained, running a hand through his dark curls. 

Elim frowned slightly. He could tell this young man was seeking some kind of reassurance, though he found himself ill-equipped to provide it. He was not exactly the nurturing type; his father made sure of that. There was no denying that there was a certain exotic appeal to Julian's smooth skin and long limbs, but everything he said only drove home how very _young_ he was. 

“There’s... nothing to apologize for. Trust me, I am very hard to offend,” he said, shaking his head. “Now, I need your help to show me how to best carry out this task, that’s all. Make me an instrument of your pleasure, if you will.”

Julian seemed to relax somewhat. He wriggled out of the embroidered trousers to reveal a pair of small linen breeches underneath, similarly laced at the waist. “I guess…” He started, haltingly, “I guess I’ll have to take these off eventually, huh?” 

“I think it would expedite matters, yes,” Elim said with a sage nod. What a curious garment, he thought, eyeing the seams with interest. Perhaps his Enjoined came from a colder climate, where one needed to protect one’s organs from the elements. He tried to imagine wearing something of this nature and simply could not picture it. For one, having the fabric snag on one’s scales during shedding would be awfully uncomfortable and what’s more, how would one structure an opening for the tail-

“Elim?” Julian’s voice took him from his thoughts. He sat on the bed beside him, fully nude now, save for a single golden band still clasped around his ankle. 

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry. I was just…. Your clothes are quite curious to me.” 

“Yours, too - your people don’t seem to wear much.”

“I’m sure you are aware of the heat here in Cardassia. Plus, our scales protect us quite nicely from most things.”

Julian pulled him into a series of impatient kisses, and Elim felt a little like perhaps he was being told to shut up. 

“Ah, right, so… I suppose I’ll need to evert.” He managed to get out.

“Is that how it, uh… comes out?” Julian asked curiously. 

Elim nodded. “It’s, ah-” He began to work on himself, trying to reach the point he was at before, when Julian was fingering him. It was hard to get into the right mood with the knowledge that his father would probably be “checking up” on their consummation, so he tried to think of something else instead. Kelas, perhaps. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Julian watching the movements of his hand with interest. 

“Oh- oh wow, it really does just…. come out just like that, huh,” he noted with mild surprise when Elim had fully everted. He reached out and touched, his eyes widening as he found it surprisingly wet and slick. 

“Yes… ‘just like that’.”

Julian, looking very determined, moved to straddle his hips, and Elim did his best to help him position himself comfortably. 

“O-okay, I think…. I think I’m ready.” He said, his face very serious. He had put his arms casually around Elim’s shoulders as if for balance, which he had to admit was not entirely unpleasant. Julian eased himself down slowly, his arse carefully stretching out as he sank lower onto Elim's hardness, which was already slick with natural lubricant. Despite the fairly awkward nature of their coupling, Elim's eyes fluttered shut in pleasure, and Julian’s arousal was obvious as his body adjusted to the warm intrusion.

For a few moments they were both quiet, as if coming to terms with sharing such a strange intimacy with, essentially, a stranger. And then, Julian laughed. Elim found himself smirking at first but then joined in with a chuckle. “What’s so funny, my dear?” He asked, careful not to shift his hips too much.

“I just… I just realized I’m sleeping with you to get away from my father and please my new father-in-law! It’s so strange.”

Elim winced, but his expression was sarcastic. “Please, if you mention my father again I’m definitely going to unevert right here.” 

“Sorry, sorry.” Julian said with one final laugh, and lowered his voice to a whisper, drawing close as he began to roll his hips. “Ahhh, it’s just… what an odd thing this is.” 

Despite their several false starts, it didn’t take long for either of them to reach their orgasms, though the climax was a small thing, quiet in its unfurling, a slow finish rather than an explosive exit. Elim caught Julian’s gaze just for a moment before he looked away and disentangled himself, and he found that the expression in his brown eyes was indescribable. 

“I suppose our pact is sealed, now.” Elim said, reaching for a bedside washcloth and offering it to Julian to clean himself up. The room felt cold, despite the residual heat of the body next to him. 

Julian laughed, somewhat awkwardly. “You’re stuck with me now, I guess.” 

Elim smiled genially and patted Julian’s shoulder as he got up off the bed and ambled towards the closet. He pulled out a knee-length kaftan with a subtle pattern, but did not put it on yet.

“The bed is yours tonight, if you’ll have it.” he said in Julian's general direction. “I understand you may not be ready for me to share it with you yet, so I shall make my home here.” 

He ran his hand over the back of the chaise lounge in the middle of the room. Julian looked as if he was about to protest - that because this wasn't _really_ his house, he _couldn't_ kick Elim to the settee - but Elim was expecting the argument, and was set in his decision. He saw Julian grudgingly come to the conclusion that perhaps two strangers sharing a bed would be slightly disconcerting, and heard the sigh. 

He began to dress himself, and Julian settled into the plush bedding. By the time Elim was dressed in his sleepwear, Julian was fast asleep. 


	6. Chapter 6

His first morning as a married man greeted Julian slowly. He peeked out from under the covers; the curtains were still drawn but he could see dull sunlight filtering through here and there. The bedroom was empty; he wondered when Elim had left. For a moment before he fully awoke, he thought perhaps he was back home in his own room, that the entire thing about going to Cardassia to get married was a bizarre dream he had. 

But the low residual hum of his body had told him that it was no dream. Most of last night had been a blur but he remembered the way Elim had touched him, the feel of scaled flesh against his own. 

Getting out of bed, he examined himself in the mirror on the dresser. He didn’t look any different, or feel all that different either. Something about this sensation reminded him of waking up on your birthday and expecting things to have changed, when they didn’t. Except... normally this is when he would shave, but he suddenly realized there was little need to do that anymore. As far as anyone here was concerned he was a man, or some form of such anyway. He grinned and rubbed his lower jaw, feeling the short hairs there.

Julian then threw open the curtains to find a symphony of color greeting him. The rising sun streaked across the sky in deep shades of red, purple, and orange. It seemed to set the ground below on fire. From this window, he could see the other wing of the house across a front courtyard done in mosaic tile, and the main road that he and Jadzia had come by. Then, on the horizon, the dark jagged mountain peaks and city spires blurred together into one, like a torn edge. 

On the small table by the bed, someone had placed a newspaper. Julian couldn't read the headline but the photo on the front page showed him and Elim, facing the camera, flanked by Castellan Tain and Ambassador Dax. When had they posed for this photo? He had absolutely no memory of that part of the evening. Julian looked at his own face in the picture and sighed. He looked frightened. It was hard to believe that not long ago he was _excited_ about this. True, he would've done anything to leave, but now he was beginning to think that perhaps _this_ had been too much. Beside him, Elim wore a somber, dutiful expression; Julian thought that it didn't really suit his face. The Castellan was smiling, although he looked more smug than proud or happy. 

Whoever had brought the newspaper had also carried in his suitcases and placed them by the wardrobe. Julian dragged the smallest of the two onto the bed, popping open the lock. 

Julian hadn't brought much; clothes, shoes, a bottle of pills that Keiko was able to make for him on short notice. As he had every morning for over a decade now, he took out a single pill and placed it under his tongue, letting it dissolve there. On the very top was Kukalaka, his old teddy bear and trusted companion. He took the toy out carefully and placed it on the dresser, propped up against the large oval mirror. 

“Well, old friend… I guess this is a bit of a change of scenery, huh?” He said quietly, patting the worn out fabric on the bear’s head. It might’ve seemed odd to bring such a thing with him to Cardassia, but Julian couldn’t remember a time in his life when the bear wasn’t nearby. Even as Julian left behind one version of himself after another, Kukalaka sat by, patient and loyal. It was more than he could say for some people in his life.

He pressed his fingers to the deep scar on his chest. To Elim, and the vast majority of non-medical folk, the scar was unusual but not suspicious - Julian sometimes claimed to the curious that he had been struck by lightning there. But any medical professional would recognize the scar (and Julian made a mental note not to remove his shirt in front of Doctor Parmak), and of course Julian could feel the pulsing, roiling sorcerer's magic that lived underneath the rough tissue. Sorcery had been sewn into him because his parents did not want the shame of having a disabled child, and they believed wholeheartedly that Julian could only be successful if he took it in. 

Normal magic, or magicka, generally speaking, was a gift from deities or some spiritual plane. Like a borrowed stole, magicka's use was limited to certain actions or events, and could be revoked. Sorcery, on the other hand, was stolen magic. It was weaved into you, essentially making you part-magic, and if you survived the procedure, it affected _everything._ The human body metabolized it, and used it to heal faster, think better, and be stronger. Sorcery cannibalized the human body, creating superhumans who both ran on magic and could cast unlimited charms and curses. It offered, in a nutshell, power. 

And that power was what made sorcery illegal in the Federation, and generally unsafe to practice anywhere - even ordinary magic wasn’t practiced openly in the Federation, for fear of being perceived as the _wrong_ kind.. Magic was meant to be held by hard crystals or supernatural hands, not squishy fragile human bodies. Those who survived the surgery to put it in often found themselves in unimaginable pain, or with nasty side effects - some lost their humanity completely. Julian had known four other sorcerers, when he went looking for them - but only he had come out of the procedure relatively unscathed. Of the others, one was trapped in eternal sleep, two lacked the ability to socialize, and the last was violent and underwent a painful werewolf transformation when angry. Julian did not wish his condition on anyone. 

A knock on the door roused him from the trail of self-pity he was about to embark on, and Julian dashed back to sit down on the bed. Then he realized that he wasn’t exactly dressed, and got under the covers for good measure. Should he be opening the door for whoever it was? This wasn’t exactly his bedroom either, or rather…. It was now, he supposed. 

There was another knock, softer this time, and then he heard the voice of his husband.

“Julian? Are you awake? I’m coming in…” Garak said before opening the door slightly and peeking inside. Julian attempted to look as if he had only just gotten up and hadn’t spent at least half an hour examining Garak’s bedroom. The Cardassian walked in, stopping at the foot of the bed.

“I take it you are well? Last night wasn’t…?”

“I feel fine, Elim, thank you.” 

“Excellent news. If you’re feeling up for it, I’d like for you to join me for breakf-” He paused mid sentence, his gaze falling onto the open suitcase. “Fates, is that all of the clothes you brought with you?” 

Julian frowned defensively. “What of it?” he said, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. Clothes had always been rather complicated for him, though he wasn’t sure that Elim would understand if he tried to explain. 

“Well that simply won’t do. Not for the Enjoined of the Castellan’s son. Luckily, I am on very good terms with one of the finest tailors in all of Cardassia,” Elim explained, looking a little self-satisfied as he did so. “We’ll leave right after breakfast, unless you have other plans?” he quipped. Julian felt a smile tug at his lips despite the odd mood he was in earlier, and very soon it grew into a coy grin. 

“Nope, my schedule is wide open. Only, I was… wondering if I could ask you a favor.”

“Certainly, what can I do?”

Julian climbed out of bed and dug the bottle of pills from his travel case, presenting it to Elim. “That doctor I met yesterday… do you think you could show this to them? I want to know if they can make more of these.”

Elim took the bottle, turning it over and looking at the contents curiously. “What… is it?”

“It’s… my medication. For… um. For what we discussed last night.” Julian explained haltingly. 

The cardassian gave a conspiratory nod and slipped the bottle into the pocket of his tunic. “I shall consult with our dear doctor as soon as I am able. Now, shall we eat? Then we'll go into the city.” 

BREAK

Kardasi’or was even more breathtaking up close than it had been from the window. Julian’s eyes kept dashing from one thing to another, as though if he didn’t look at all of it it might disappear. From the confident spires piercing the sky to the trams chugging along the streets, everything was new and unexpected to him. Finally, when the carriage stopped, Julian’s attention was drawn to some kind of commotion rising above the din of busy city streets. A group of people had gathered in front of a rather stately building, carrying signs and banners. He hopped out of the carriage lightly, taking a few steps closer. At the center was a petite Bajoran woman with short red hair, holding a loudspeaker and saying something in Kardasi he couldn’t make out. 

“What’s going on, Elim?” Julian asked when the Cardassian rejoined him. 

“Oh.” Elim looked at the group with something akin to concern before gently turning Julian away. “It’s nothing. They’ll be dispersed soon, don’t worry. Come, the tailor is waiting for us.”

A small bell chimed as Elim opened the door of the tailor’s shop for him, and Julian took a tentative step inside. The fabrics on display looked, even to his untrained eye, extremely lavish and full of embroidery and rich dyes. The tailor stepped out from behind the counter, spreading his arms wide. “Mr. Garak! How lovely to see you again. Forever humbled by your patronage, of course. And may I say, congratulations on your Enjoinment.”

Elim nodded politely, and gave Julian a gentle push to come forward. “I was hoping you might be able to outfit my _tuvUr_ here with something more becoming of his new station in life. Perhaps some local fashions?”

Julian didn’t know what was so wrong with what he was wearing - a light linen suit with a vest and rolled-up sleeves - but the tailor approached him with interest, examining the clothes. “How peculiar. What bizarre construction. Is this normal where he comes from?”

“I can only assume so, yes.”

Which is how Julian received a crash course in Cardassian fashion, standing in the fitting room of what was easily the nicest tailor shop he had ever been in. It was plain to see that most Cardassians, men and women alike, seemed to prefer wearing robes and tunics, presumably to better accommodate their distinct anatomy. Tight-fitting garments were generally reserved for children, to protect their softer scales from injury. 

And of course there was the symbol of the Cardassian Union, which was incorporated into everything from the spires of their buildings to the construction of their clothes. Julian wondered if this was somehow mandated, or if people here were just more patriotic than he was used to. 

He vetoed anything with a low neckline, for reasons obvious to him and perhaps less obvious to his husband, although this ruled out a lot. The Cardassians were very proud of their neck ridges, and some even painted the scales in various colors as a way to draw attention from prospective mates. Elim seemed to be quite versed in the world of fashion himself, constantly correcting the tailor on this or that cut, or requesting different fabrics. Julian wondered if perhaps he did this professionally. 

Still, it made Julian feel very confident to be able to stand up here and say _diTh_ and _yaq_ to things, to decide for himself what he wanted to wear, without his parents hovering over his shoulder muttering _‘Maybe this cut is too boyish, Julia, let’s go to a different shop…’_. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so in control of his own life. It seemed unfair that he had to run away to another country and get married in order to do it, but he was happy to have it now.

In the end, Julian picked out several shorter tunics in the more solid colors, and ordered a few pairs of pants made from the pair he was wearing. Elim seemed to enjoy mixing patterns in his own clothes, but this seemed to Julian to be a bit too ostentatious. He wanted, more than anything, not to draw attention to himself. He wanted to be seen as any other man in Cardassia. As Elim haggled for price on all his new clothes, Julian looked out the window, back towards the protest he'd seen. The protestors seemed to be dispersing - Julian noticed several armed and official-looking men walking through the street. The red-haired Bajoran was gone, but several other Bajoran workers were on the ground, handcuffed or being pinned down by what looked like the local gendarmerie. 

Julian shuddered, and turned away from the window. What had he gotten himself into? 


	7. Chapter 7

A week passed, and by the end of it Julian was thoroughly _bored_. Being the husband of the son of the Castellan, Julian wasn’t required to do much of anything, and therefore Elim found him things to do; when he wasn’t studying Kardasi, he would tour the capital city with Sokoa, who explained at great length about every monument to Legate So-and-so they happened to pass. Whenever he found a free moment, Julian had taken to visiting the stables that housed the House’s riding hounds, though he was yet to work up the courage to actually mount one. On the other hand, Elim seemed to have too much to do, and didn’t spend much time with Julian, rather preferring to go to secretive meetings with his father that Julian was never invited to. Occasionally, Julian would see him take a turn around the grounds with Kelas, but not often, and only when the Castellan was out of the house. Julian had tried to pry and discover what exactly Castellan Tain and Elim worked as, but Elim had deflected and distracted him until he very nearly gave up. All he knew was that it was highly secretive, and that today, Elim would be out of the house on “business”.

“Perhaps you’re a _spy_.” Julian was still guessing as Elim lead him to wherever they were going today. “Perhaps _that’s_ why you can’t tell me where you’re going.”

“Your imagination really is running wild today, Julian.” Elim laughed. “Perhaps you should be an artist.”

“I’m no good at painting. Nor anything else creative, unfortunately. Trust me, my parents tried me with _everything._ ”

“I shall take your word for it.”

They came out of the corridor from Elim’s bedroom into the ballroom, but instead of crossing the ballroom to the stairs that lead to the lower floors, like Julian expected, Elim lead them along the wall, to a hidden set of stairs behind one of the walls. They climbed upwards, and quite suddenly Julian found himself in a part of the house he’d never been to before. The servants, of whom Julian had not seen more than one or two at a time before, now seemed to fill the corridors, and with a jolt Julian realised this must be their quarters. This floor had the same general layout as the floors below it, albeit the rooms were much smaller and the floors less polished. A single staircase led up from the center of the hall; something felt ominous about it, but Julian couldn’t figure out why. The servants did not seem surprised to see Elim here, but several looked curiously at Julian as they crossed the corridor, and Julian could feel several eyes on the back of his neck as Elim opened a door beneath the ominous stairwell, and ushered him inside. 

The smell of the room hit Julian before anything else - floral and herby, from the many plants that both grew and lay drying on the various tables in the room. The light came from two long, thin windows that sat between the ceiling and the tops of the walls, which bathed the room with a golden dawn glow. A large table sat in the middle, well worn and scarred, and Julian could see medical supplies dotted around - half finished salves, a mortar and pestle, bandages and splints of various sizes, and several large tomes that looked far too complicated for Julian and his middling Kardasi to understand. Around the edges were shelves covered in herbs and bottles, and other alchemical equipment - Julian could see a marble slab for tempering in one corner, a large gas cupboard in the gap between the two windows, and a ladder to the space further under the stairs which seemed to store bottles and apparatus of all kinds.

“Kelas!” Elim called out, walking further into the room. “Are you here?”

“As if I’d be anywhere else,” came Kelas’ wry voice, and Julian turned to see Kelas emerge from a door hidden in the wall. Outside of their formalwear, Kelas looked far more homely - they wore a basic green robe, with a cardigan belted over the top, the sleeves rolled up to their elbows. Their hair was no longer elaborately braided, but rather curly and done up in a loose bun, with one thin braid hanging down on their right side, looping past the outside of the white-speckled patch on their eye and clipping into the bun just below their ear. As Kelas moved to greet them, Julian noticed several fabric wraps tied around their charcoal-white tail, each one holding a selection of herbs.

“I see your fashion sense has been packed back into your trunk.” Elim said, with a slight smile. “That’s something Julian and you can bond over - your shared bad sense of fashion.”

“What I’m wearing is _practical_.” Kelas replied, raising an eyeridge. “And I’m glad Julian is also wearing something practical. Unlike _you_.”

“Elim did try and convince me to wear something else.” Julian laughed, tugging at the blue-black skant he was wearing. “This is comfortable.”

“See? Someone understands.” Kelas smiled at him. “I see your Kardasi has improved since the last time we spoke.”

“I’ve been practicing with Elim. He helps me sometimes with my pronunciation.” Julian looked towards Elim. “Only today he’s out on business.”

“Ah, he did mention.” Kelas gave Elim an unreadable look. “I’m sure I can find something for you can do.”

“Only if it’s no trouble! I’d love to learn about medicine- it’s something I loved to read about back home- but I don’t want to be in the way-”

Kelas stopped Julian’s nervous rambling by laying a warm hand on his arm. “It’s no trouble. I’d like to have someone to teach.” they said. “Elim is, unfortunately, a rather accident prone individual who won’t learn first aid. _Especially_ when he’s at work.”

“Why should I learn?” Elim said airily. “I can just ask you to fix me up.”

Kelas rolled his eyes, and made shooing motions with their free hand, chivvying Elim out the door with only a few moments for him to say goodbye. Julian could tell, even with Kelas’ apparent exasperation, that the pair were truly very good friends. As soon as the door clicked shut behind Elim, Kelas turned, and smiled at Julian.

“Alright, Julian.” Kelas moved across to the mortar and pestle on the table, and indicated Julian should follow. “I’ll give you an introduction on alchemy and healing. Put this in the corner would you?”

Kelas handed Julian their walking stick, and pulled out two stools from under the table. Julian did as they asked, then settled next to them on a stool.

“Elim passed on your medication a few days ago,” they said, as they pulled the mortar towards them. “I thought I’d show you how it was made, as a bit of an introduction. How familiar are you with medicine in general?”

Julian thought immediately of the _illicit_ medical treatment that his parents forced him through, and thought perhaps that was not the kind Kelas should hear about.

“Not very familiar.” Julian lied. “I was sick as a child, but I don’t remember what I was treated with. And a friend I knew - a professor - used to make all my medication.”

“I did think so.” Kelas tipped the mortal towards him, and Julian saw a dark, wet paste. “This here is ash yam. This is what your medication starts like.”

Julian peered doubtfully at the paste. “It doesn’t look like much.”

“It doesn’t. I far prefer them less paste-like and roasted with other vegetables.” Kelas gave him a sly grin. “But this is what will give us what we need for our medication.”

“ _Our_ medication?” Julian looked quizzically towards Kelas. “Are you…?”

“I’m... an androgyne? Intersex?” Kelas turned to the mortar, and began to pound the paste again, frowning. “I don’t think that’s the Kardasi word. I… do not fit the typical definitions of sexed bodies. Your medication is a little different to mine, I’m guessing that your biology is a little different…”

“Ah, yes. I was…” Julian paused, and grasped for the right Kardasi words. “I was born female. My medication is… transitioning me to male.”

“Oh!” Kelas blinked, then smiled. “That’s something I’ve treated. I’ve not practiced much outside of the household, but that is certainly something I can safely treat you for.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Julian smiled, infinitely more relaxed. “And you’ll make it from… ash yam? What will it taste like?”

“Normally I can make it taste… sweet? I’m uncertain if it’s a taste you’ll be familiar with.”

“Keiko - our botanist back home - made it taste like chocolate. Do you get chocolate here?”

“Cho-co-late…” Kelas spaced out the word with a frown. “I don’t think so. Is it nice?”

“It’s _lovely -_ if I ever go home I’ll have to bring you some.” Julian grinned at them. “Now, how does this paste become our medication?

“Like this. See, it doesn’t look like much but if I…” Kelas suddenly stopped grinding the paste, and murmured a few words. Their eyes flashed white, before Kelas turned the mortar towards Julian. The paste now looked different, and a sheen of some oily substance sat on top of the mixture.

“I- that- was that _Cardassian_ magic?” Julian asked, slightly amazed. “You can practice _openly_ here?!”

“Of course.” Kelas set the mortar down flat. “Is magic not practiced openly in the Federation?”

“I- well, _yes_. It’s just heavily regulated, and practiced behind closed doors. And some magic we… can’t practice. Magic from certain... sources.”

“You mean sorcery? Sorcery’s banned here too.”

“Oh.” Julian’s sudden, irrational hope deflated rather spectacularly. “I- sorry, I didn’t mean to accuse you of- of-”

“It’s no matter.” Kelas began fiddling with a glass instrument. “It’s not the first time.”

“I’m still sorry.” Julian touched their elbow, a little lost for words. “It’s… not nice to be falsely accused, at any time.”

“Thank you.” Kelas sighed, and put the glass instrument down. “It’s… many folks in this part of the territory see someone like me practicing and think ‘sorcery’.”

“Because of your… ethnicity?”

“Mmm. Some parts of the country don’t think we should get magic from our Cheða deities. But it’s perfectly legal, and they know it.”

“Is it… similar to sorcery?”

“Not at all. Sorcery is… unstable. Dangerous. Powerful, given that you have access to all types of magic instead of only a little, like you get the usual way, but you can’t hold that much magic without it causing damage.”

“And your magic?”

“I was granted healing and alchemical magic from my deities, and it works like other magic - that is, so many religious rules and regulations that you expect your magic to fail you half the time.”

Julian couldn’t help but laugh a little at that description. “Sorcery isn’t practiced here, then?”

“Oh it is, I’m certain it is. Before I came here, we often had children at the hospital I worked at who’d become suddenly ill, or suddenly changed personality, or wouldn’t stop screaming.” Kelas shuddered, “To open a _child_ up and _sew_ sorcery into them…”

“You disagree with it?”

“It’s _barbaric._ It’s _cruel_. The poor children who have to _grow up_ with its side effects, who lose their sense of identity, their lives at risk from their own magic, all because their parents weren’t happy with them when they were born. It’s _wrong_.”

Julian didn’t trust himself to speak, but instead nodded. Kelas was silent for a few moments, before patting Julian’s hand and moving to pick up the instrument again.

“Let’s get back to this. Now you see this oil here? It’s part of what we need to synthesize your medication. We used to extract it straight from riding hound testicles - thank _fates_ our technology has moved on from that…”

BREAK 

The afternoon sped by, almost like a blur. Julian did not think he’d come to enjoy medicine so much, but the sheer breadth of knowledge available simply _fascinated_ him. The medication they’d been preparing was now on a back burner, where it would sit through the night, and now Kelas was walking him through salve preparation. Most of it Julian could prepare himself, but some parts required magic, and given his magic was clearly illegal, Julian had to wait for Kelas to take over. Julian had never spent so much time with an active user of magic, and not to sound redundant, but it was _magical._ Every whispered charm, every reformation of the base ingredients made Julian’s magic tingle with desire to _work_ with it, buzzing as if it waited just at his fingertips, waiting for the right words to release it into the world. 

“We call it _alëä_ ,” Kelas remarked, after a particularly tricksy piece of magic. “In my language. Although, to be honest, we call a lot of things _alëä._ ”

“Kardasi isn’t your language?” Julian asked, rubbing some of the new salve between his fingers. 

“I learnt it as a teenager. My first language is Cheða.” They nodded towards a book on the counter. “That’s in Cheða - read it if you’re interested.”

Julian looked at the cover - the language was styles with smooth lines and sharp diamonds. It reminded him of his native Punjabi, except… vertical? 

“What does _alëä_ mean then?” Julian asked, tracing a finger down the odd script. 

“Faith. Religion. Joy.” Kelas turned to jar the salve. “Kind of an all-purpose word for anything faith-linked or personally important. Cheðaite magic is almost always faith-linked, so we call it _alëä._ ”

“You only have one word for those concepts?” Julian looked up at them, frowning. “Most Federation languages have at least ten or twenty words for faith-linked items. I hear Highland Bajorla has over two hundred.”

“Two hundred and thirteen, to be exact.” Kelas smiled, but it was sad. “We had more, but… well, our religion wasn’t approved by the Great Houses. We lost almost all our religious words. _Alëä_ is the only one left, it was the only one safe to use. We used it in both religious and secular settings, so we couldn’t be arrested for it. So it gets used for everything.”

The sadness and pain in their voice was evident. “I’m sorry.” Julian murmured.” I didn’t mean to-”

“You weren’t to know.” Kelas examined the jar of salve. “Our faith isn't banned anymore. It’s just… discouraged.”

Julian was silent for a while, feeling something click into place about his understanding of Cardassia. The picture he’d built of it a week ago was of a quiet, orderly place, industrious, but now… now, there was something _artificial_ about the scene, as if underneath it’s glossy shine there hid a broken, rotted core. 

The silence that fell between them was broken by a sudden rap on the door. Kelas’ eyes flickered towards the clock on the wall, before they called out, “Come in!” The door opened, and Elim poked his head around the door jamb. 

“I hope I’m not interrupting?” he asked. Kelas smiled, beckoning him in.

“Not at all. Julian was just finishing up a bruise salve.” 

“And Kelas was teaching me a little Cheða,” Julian added. Elim’s smile broadened. 

“I’m glad you are getting on well.” He stepped further into the room, and Julian’s eyes were immediately drawn to a dark black bruise on his right neck ridge. Kelas noticed it too, and with a sharp flick of their wrist they indicated for him to sit down on a nearby stool. 

“Elim,” they said, quickly washing their hands before approaching. “What have you gotten yourself into _now?”_

“It’s rather an interesting story.” Elim tilted his head to give Kelas access to the wound. “An old lady, some _depset_ cake, and a _rather_ enthusiastic pet Nokaran sandfoot she kept indoors-” 

“Nokaran sandfeet can’t be tamed,” Kelas interrupted. “Let alone be kept indoors - they’re _massive.”_

 _“_ And yet, she had one.” Elim’s face was the picture of innocence. “She set the thing on me when I suggested her scarf was _perhaps_ the most awful colour and pattern scheme I’d ever seen. I’m _lucky_ to be alive.”

Kelas gave Julian an unimpressed look. “Don’t believe any stories he tells you,” they groused. “Especially anything about his work.”

“You _wound_ me, Kelas,” Elim laid one hand on his breastbone. “ _All_ of it is true.” 

“Even the lies?” Julian asked. Elim grinned broadly at him. 

“ _Especially_ the lies.” 

As Kelas patched up his neck ridge, Julian looked between them, frowning. There was something between them, something he wasn’t quite picking up on. Elim seemed to be as touchy as he was with everyone, but Kelas was… _careful_. Careful with Elim’s touches, careful to keep space between them, careful in speech. While Kelas was more affable with Julian, with Elim they were… tense. Julian had thought they were close before, but this, _this_ was indicating something else. He looked back down at the Cheða text he was previously, and watched them from the corner of his eye, watched as Elim snarked and smiled, and placed a hand on Kelas’ hip, a hold which Kelas steps quickly out of-

Oh

 _Oh_. 

Oh, he was _daft_. How could he not see it before? Kelas was clearly an ex-lover. Given the tenseness, they’d probably broken up only recently - perhaps just before Elim and Julian’s marriage? Julian’s heart swelled in sympathy. He could not imagine being in Kelas’ position - he certainly would not have been magnanimous enough to teach his partner’s new paramour about his work, nor to be so kind and patient about it. _It was a terribly unfair situation for them_ , Julian thought. And Julian didn’t truly want to get married in the first place - he just wanted an out from Federation! 

“Julian?” 

Julian blinked out of his thoughts. Elim was looking at him with an amused twinkle in his eye. Kelas had finished tending to him and had turned to another one of their preparations, but Julian could see them smiling. 

“Sorry,” he said, blushing. “Was away with the fae. Did you say something?”

“I was just about to suggest we withdraw to the reading room,” Elim said lightly. “Let Kelas wrap up for the night.” 

“Oh! Of course.” Julian turned,and gave Kelas a short bow. “Thank you for teaching me today.” 

“It’s no trouble.” Kelas stopped mixing long enough to bow back. “I expect you to be back next week for another lesson, hmm?” 

“Of course!” Julian grinned, and let Elim tug him away. Elim lead him back down the stairs into the ballroom, and it was as they strolled around the perimeter towards the reading room at the back of the house that Elim finally spoke. 

“I take it you enjoyed your lesson with Doctor Parmak?” 

“Yes.” Julian smiled. “Kelas is an extraordinary person. I can see why you’re friends.”

“Friends? I wouldn’t say we were _friends_ …”

“Oh? Then what - Acquaintances? Walking friends? Best friends when no-one is looking?”

“My dear, sarcasm is most unbecoming on you.” 

“Alright. But I _know_ you’re friends.” _And were something more,_ he thought afterwards, but Julian didn’t voice the thought. “Are you having one of those ‘pretend I’m the perfect Cardassian’ moments?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You know, when you lie about the things you like to save face.” Julian pretended to count his fingers. “You’re trying to be the perfect Cardassian. Pretending to be all secretive, lies about having no friends, pontificates about Cardassia-”

“Now you’re just putting words in my mouth.” 

“I’m right, though.” 

“Julian, there are several reasons why you’re _not_ -” 

They turned a corner, and nearly barrelled headfirst into Enabran Tain, who just exited the reading room. Whatever light banter existed between Julian and Elim vanished at the dour face of the Castellan - if Tain was off-putting during his wedding, then in the broad light of day he was the sinister uncle Julian would love to run and hide from. By his side, he saw Elim incline his head, and he copied the motion. In response, Tain smiled, and Julian was reminded distinctly of a toad. 

“Father,” Elim murmured. “I was just escorting Julian to the reading room.” 

Was that defensiveness he heard? Julian could not see why Elim had to defend himself for daring to escort his husband, but Tain seemed to eye him somewhat suspiciously. 

“Have you done your… _chores_ yet, Elim?” 

Julian got the distinct impression that ‘chores’ was a euphemism for something else. Elim seemed to wilt somewhat at the question

“No.” he replied. “I’ll... wait for you in your office.”

And with that, Elim turned and went back the way he came, leaving Julian to watch him go, feeling hurt. _So much for literature_ _class,_ Julian thought bitterly, but he pasted on a smile, and turned back to Tain. 

“I should let you get to your… chores.” Julian murmured, but before he could leave, Tain held up a stilling hand. 

“I should like to know how you are settling in,” he said, “I realise I’ve been remiss in checking on you earlier, but…” 

“I understand.” Julian actually really didn’t understand what kind of business required so much secrecy, but he wasn’t about to cause a fuss with _this_ man. “I’ve been settling just fine.” 

“You have all the amenities and… amusements you require?” 

“Yes. Seneschal Sokoa has shown me around town, and Doctor Parmak has offered lessons in medicine.”

“Medicine.” Something about that seemed to amuse Tain. “I did not realise medicine interested you.” 

“I hadn’t tried it before. And Doctor Parmak is an excellent teacher.” 

“And I suppose that is where you’ve been all day? In Doctor Parmak’s command?” 

“Yes.” 

“I thought as much.” Something in Tain’s face seemed to sour, although he still smiled. “But I have held you too long. We shall speak again, hmm?” 

Tain patted him on the shoulder, before sliding past him and following his son back down the corridor. Julian proceeded to the reading room, and with a sigh, began perusing for literature that wouldn’t take his mediocre Kardasi and beat it black and blue. 

The slimy feeling of being watched never did quite leave him. 


	8. Chapter 8

Elim did not join him in the afternoon, and he wasn’t around when Julian went to bed either. But the next morning, Julian was awakened by noise - and not the usual morning noises of a household, either. Those, he was happy to realize, were the same no matter where one went. No, this was slightly more urgent. He blinked in the mid-morning sunlight - someone had clearly already drawn the curtains, and the servants were already bustling around the room, moving and fetching things from outside the room. There were no alarms, however, and no panicked or stricken expressions, so it could not be an emergency. It was just…. _unusually_ busy for this time in the morning. 

“Julian! Good, you’re awake. Get dressed and come quickly. I’m packing our travel cases.” Elim’s voice reached him from the other side of the room. He peered over the lip of the duvet covers, and found him fully dressed and rifling through Julian’s closet. Once again, the other side of the bed showed no signs of having been slept in. He wondered where his husband spent the night. 

“Are we going somewhere?” He asked, his voice hoarse as he rubbed his eyes and sat up.

“My sister Ziyal is finally back from her exhibition in Lakat, and she is eager to meet you.”

“Sister?” Julian frowned. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“I don’t suppose Father mentioned her. She hasn’t been in Father’s good graces for some time.” Julian saw Elim lean across and tug a bell-pull situated near the window. The bell outside the room was rung, and within a few seconds a servant entered bearing a tray of food. 

“ _vess_. _ka korUnt juq’I’rat kor.”_ Elim said, pointing to the bed. “I took the liberty of calling breakfast for you - there should be something you like...”

Just as the smells from the tray reached him, Julian realized how hungry he was. Cardassian food had disagreed with him at first, but he was starting to develop a taste for its unfamiliar spices and textures. He was growing especially fond of the thin, crispy cookies called _elt’il_ \- imperceptibly thin wafers of different flavors layered together. The first time he had eaten one, he simply bit it and chewed as he would any other cookie, finding it slightly spicy but vaguely sweet. However, Elim politely explained that the trick was to let one dissolve on your tongue, so that each layer could be tasted separately. 

The servant placed the tray at the foot of the bed, bowed to both of them, and backed out of the room without a single word. Julian examined the contents with interest. There was _halakla_ porridge, a steaming cup of red leaf tea, and two small _releh'ren_ sandwiches. He took a careful sip of the tea, served in a glass cup with an ornate metal holder, and felt it warm his insides on the way down.. He let out a contented sigh; if nothing else, he married into a country that had tea. 

It took him a few more sips before he could continue the conversation. “What was this exhibition? Portraiture? Sculpture?” he asked. Elim moved back from the closet, holding up two of Julian’s tunics, as if to compare their relative merits.

“Portraiture. Ziyal is a wonderful artist.” His voice sounded distracted. “Her paintings are shown all over Cardassia.” 

“Did she paint the ones in the dining hall?”

Elim set down the clothes he was holding, and a shadow passed over his face. “She… No. They aren’t hers.”

The excitement in his husband’s voice seemed to vanish, and Julian found himself unsure what to say. He took another sip of his tea and tried to steer the conversation elsewhere. “So where are we going? Does she live in town?”

“Just outside it. Not too long a journey, but far enough to take the carriage there.”

“And we’ll be staying… overnight?” Julian eyed the number of tunics Elim was pulling from his closet. “Two nights? Three?”

“My sister has invited us for dinner tonight. We’ll return tomorrow evening.” Evidently happy with his selections, Elim closed the case with a quiet snap, and turned to Julian. “Come now, finish your food, we want to leave before the afternoon sun hits.” 

They departed the estate an hour later, the carriage rolling along country roads he’d never seen before. Once again, Julian was struck by how easily Garak came and went. They did not tell anyone of their departure, no one followed them out, and nobody seemed to care that they left. As they drove down a manicured lane, Julian turned back to see if perhaps one was following them without their knowledge, but all he saw were children chasing each other in the street and two elderly people playing a board game on a bench.

“Sir?” He ventured, formally

“What did I say, my dear?”

“Sorry… Elim. Are you sure this is… safe?” Julian asked, scanning their surroundings again. Somehow the wide-open country made him more apprehensive than the bustling city streets. 

“What is, Julian?”

“Well… going out like this. Alone. After all, The Castellan surely has…. enemies. They might want to…” 

Elim let out a somewhat bitter laugh. “Ahh, yes. Well. I suppose he does. But they’d have little to gain by going after me.”

“How come?” 

Just then, the carriage came to a halt beside a modestly sized house with copper-colored _heppat_ vines climbing its walls. Elim disembarked first, then held out his hand for Julian to get down safely. The driver asked when they were to return and then continued onwards down the lane. 

“I’m not exactly in the line of succession, you see.” Elim explained. Julian blinked, not understanding.

“What do you mean?” 

“I’m afraid rather than the stately prince you were promised, I was simply my father’s indiscretion.” As he said this, he laid a hand on the gate of the house with something akin to longing, looking towards the windows. “Ziyal... is his only legitimate child.” While this house looked much the same as any others on the block, there were indeed two men with spears standing outside the doors, indicating the importance of the occupant. As they approached the guards, Elim nodded, and Julian followed suit, not knowing what else to do.

Entering the house, Julian took in its warm tones and large windows, a far cry from Castellan Tain’s estate. It seemed modest, but welcoming. Definitely not what he would’ve expected from the residence of the heir to a Great House. The walls were hung with art of various kinds, and sculptures decorated several awkwardly placed corners. He paused for a second and wondered whether to take off his shoes, but didn’t get a chance to ask before a voice caught his attention.

“ _rasuset_! Who said you could come in as you like?” A Cardassian woman stood on the stair landing, her hands folded across her chest. She wore her long hair in a rather simple updo, decorated with a geometric hairband. The light from the candles placed along the staircase glimmered off the ornate belt cinching her crimson tunic at the waist. Julian perhaps thought she looked like someone he knew - there was something in the face perhaps, or in the way her red tunic and cream underdress hung from her shoulders, or perhaps even in the way she spoke. Julian wondered how it was that he did not hear her approach. 

Elim grinned at her greeting, but did not move to leave, even as she stalked down the stairs towards him. “My dear, I’ve never needed an invitation before. But, now that you’re a _celebrity_ , I suppose I should try and get on the guest list.” 

The woman made a gesture Julian had come to understand was fairly rude, but her face was coy, smiling. “It was one exhibition.”

“Important enough for you to miss my wedding!”

“Please, like I’d come to any of Father’s ridiculous charades.” 

“You didn’t even give me a useless kitchen gadget. _I_ gave you a useless kitchen gadget for _your_ wedding.” 

“Yes, and it’s gathering dust in the attic as it’s meant to.”

They both laughed before falling into a warm embrace. Julian heard Elim say “Ah, Ziyal, _vrellin_ …” quietly as they hugged. For someone his husband hadn't mentioned until now, the pair seemed very close. In fact, this was not a side of him he that Julian had seen before - affectionate, playful, almost childlike himself. For siblings, they certainly seemed to have a considerable age difference. Now that they stood together, Julian could indeed see a resemblance - something in the eyes, maybe? - although the woman’s features were much less rounded. 

As if suddenly remembering Julian’s presence, Elim looked back at him. “Julian, this is Ziyal, my sister. Ziyal, this is Julian, my Enjoined.” 

Ziyal stepped forward suddenly and peered curiously at Julian’s face, causing him to step back slightly, but not before he noticed the glint of a dangling earring on the side of her face. In an odd moment of disconnect, he realized he’d seen it before. Nearly everyone from Bajor wore one of these, but this was the first time he had seen it since entering Cardassia. Even the few Bajorans he’d seen on the streets and around the estate weren’t wearing them.

“Interesting.” Ziyal murmured. “Not who I would’ve expected Father to go with, but then again… Is he even of age?”

“The Castellan seems like a very… powerful person.” Julian ventured, eager to get the conversation off himself. He’d had plenty of people come up and marvel at him in the street in the last few weeks, and was getting rather tired of it. 

Ziyal burst out laughing, and Elim also let out a knowing chuckle. Julian looked between the two of them, unsure what part of his statement was funny. But to his relief the attention didn’t remain on him for long - a young Trill woman entered the foyer. She was small of stature, with short dark hair and playful eyes. When she saw the small gathering of people, she gasped and grinned. “Oh, Ziyal, you didn’t tell me Elim was visiting today. And… who’s this?” she asked, walking over to the group and linking her arms around Ziyal’s waist. 

“Julian, I want you to meet my wife, Ezri Tigan. Ezri, this… is the man Elim married last week.” 

Julian felt more and more like as if was some major part of this he wasn’t understanding. The Trill didn’t have a noble class, so Ezri had to be a commoner. And, given the strong influence House Tain had, there would be no way the Castellan would’ve allowed his heir to marry below her station like this. Perhaps theirs was a political marriage much like his had been, but... they seemed so open around each other, so in love. Nonetheless, he remembered his manners and extended a hand.

“Julian Bashir, pleased to meet you.”

Ezri took it graciously and curtsied in a rather half-hearted way. “Lovely to see another Federation face, not that I dislike Cardassians, but I’m rather sick of being the only one at parties.”

“You go to parties often? I guess you would, given Ziyal is the heir apparent.”

“Oh, Ziyal’s not one for parties. Especially not ones held by her House. I normally go to book launches, awards ceremonies, that kind of thing. I’m, um, an author, you see.”

“An author?” Julian smiled. “How fascinating!”

Ezri’s grinned, and her enthusiasm seemed to light up the room. “Yes! You might have read some of my work - maybe _Field of Fire?_ ”

“Oh, yes! With the police officer Curzon, and Joran!”

“You enjoyed it?”

“I loved it!” Julian laughed. “I was never able to find any more by you, but that novel was fantastic.” 

“Well, perhaps you’ll have a chance to read some more while you settle in.” Ziyal smiled. “Ezri’s whole collection is up in the reading room.”

“I’ll happily join you,” Ezri added. “Dinner’s in a few hours - Ziyal and Elim can catch up without us being nuisances under their feet.”

“Neither of you are _nuisances_ ,” Ziyal laughed, pressing a kiss to Ezri’s cheek. “But feel free. I’ll send up some snacks for lunch. If you want to freshen up before dinner, just let Ezri know and she’ll point you to somewhere you can wash.”

Julian nodded in thanks. Elim pressed a warm hand to Julian’s back, before taking his sister through an archway to a sitting room. With a warm smile, Ezri took his elbow and lead him upstairs to the reading room.

BREAK

It seemed like only seconds before Julian found himself at the dinner table, looking at the spread of food with interest. Unlike the thoroughly Cardassian food he had been served at Castellan Tain’s estate, Ziyal’s cook had prepared for them a more international variety. He recognized dishes from Bajor, Trill, and even a few Federation meals, served with a variety of drinks, from smoke tea to _kanar_ cocktails. And to Julian’s surprise, some of his favourite foods were also on offer. Sure, the scones were made with _halakla_ flour and the jam was _podUl_ , not strawberry, but he was nearly brought to tears anyway. He didn’t even want to know how they had known it was his favorite. “This is… this is fantastic, thank you,” Julian said, for what seemed like the third time since they sat down. Ziyal smiled warmly at him over her _mesto_ salad, “I figured you’d be a bit homesick.”

Julian laughed, and stuffed another bite of _halakla_ scone into his mouth and washed it down with tea. “They’re almost like the ones back home. Pass my thanks on to the cook.”

“I will.” Ziyal turned her smile to her brother. “See? I always said Father should pay his head chef. They’ll work better.”

“Father _does_ pay his head chef,” Elim rebuked. “He wouldn’t trust them not to poison him otherwise.”

“He pays them a pittance. And most of the kitchen hands are slaves.”

“Slaves?” Julian frowned at Elim. “You never told me there were slaves.”

“What difference would it have made?” Elim purposefully turned to his food. “It’s the way things are.”

“I would’ve liked to have _known._ ” The _halakla_ scones he had been enjoying suddenly seemed unappealing. “Is this…”

“No - not slave labour.” Ezri reassured him. “We pay all our staff.”

“Not that Father cares.” Ziyal snorted. “He keeps sending me slaves on the High Holidays. And I keep offering them pay or their freedom.”

Julian was suddenly reminded of the protestor he’d seen earlier in the week, when Elim had taken him shopping. “I saw protests about it - in the city center. Bajorans, mostly.”

“Mmm.” Ziyal poked at her salad, and sighed. “We’re in a bit of a… revolution at the moment. The Bajoran Crisis, they call it. Bajoran slaves are fighting for emancipation, and sympathetic Cardassians are fighting to close the slavery loophole.”

“We help when we can,” Ezri added. “Money, we can give. But we struggle to be visible - you know that the Castellan is a dangerous man.”

“Which is why I did not want you to speak with them, Julian.” Elim rested his hand on Julian’s shoulder. “Should my father even suspect you sympathize…”

“ _rasuset,_ you know you can’t protect him by sticking his head in the sand.” Elim did not reply, and after a moment Ziyal turned to Julian. “Officially, we have a treaty with Bajor not to use them as slaves. It was made years ago - Bajor and Cardassia traded… dignitaries to seal it.”

“But it’s being ignored?”

“Exploited.” Now Elim spoke, and he sounded rather tired. “Slavery is illegal, but indentured service is legalized as a punishment. It was too easy for the Great Houses to start charging Bajorans who crossed the border or lived in the Borderlands with trespass, where the punishment was…”

“Indentured service.” Julian’s stomach twisted. “That’s foul.”

“It is,” Ziyal murmured. The air in the room seemed to have become much colder, and Julian got the distinct impression he’d touched a raw nerve. But before he could speak up or apologize, Ziyal shook her head, and pasted on a smile.

“Have you tried the _şfan phurhncha-phua_? It’s spicy, but I think you’ll like it…”

Once dinner was finished, Ziyal suggested they move into the solarium for a nightcap, to which everyone quickly agreed. Julian had never set foot in a solarium before, but he found it beautiful - although the sun was well on its way to setting, the room held heat, and was decorated with sunning rocks, soft lights and cozy wicker chairs. If Julian looked up through the roof he could see the startings of the night sky, and the troubles he learned about at dinner seemed far away once again. They all collected around a small table set in the middle and claimed chairs - Julian and Elim claimed seperate ones, but Ezri and Ziyal had opted to cuddle up in one. Ezri had just finished talking about her latest novel, her biggest undertaking so far; an attempt to adapt the Cardassian repetitive epic to appeal to a broader audience. Listening to her speak. Julian could not think of a time when he felt so comfortable.

“So how does a Trill end up somewhere like this, anyway?” Julian asked, glancing at the glass in his hand. The kanar was loosening his tongue and his manners. He felt truly happy for what felt like the first time in months. The four of them, gathered around this small table, talking and sharing drinks under a bright clear night sky - it was a polar opposite of the meals he’d been eating in Enabran Tain’s grand dining hall, with its ostentatiously large table and meticulously arranged centerpieces. “Well, um…. You see it’s really… Hm. How to start…” Ezri began, before Ziyal reached over and took her hand.

“We met in Bajor. She was a few grades ahead of me at school, and then was stupid enough to want to come back to Cardassia with me.” 

Ezri rolled her eyes at her wife before looking back at Julian. “Well, it’s not like I wanted to return to my family. I felt bad for leaving my brothers behind, but… I had to do it while I had the chance.” 

Julian could feel his face flush. He could’ve said those words himself barely a month ago. He could’ve asked, but the particulars didn’t matter - he already understood that feeling. 

“And the Castellan didn’t object?” 

“Oh, he nearly had a fit that I didn’t marry someone from one of the other Great Houses. But at that point I didn’t really care what he thought. My paintings were selling well, I could support myself, and I missed my brother. Plus, it does nobody any good to be complaining about the way things are here while living in the safety of the Federation. Cardassia will never change from the outside.”

Across the table, Elim’s blue eyes twinkled as he raised a glass in appreciation. “We’re just too stubborn for that, I’m afraid.” 

Julian looked at both of them in turn, as if he had forgotten something important but couldn’t remember what it was. “Wait… Bajor?” As he spoke, he was suddenly struck with a thought. “You… you were in that exchange, weren’t you? The exchange of dignitaries.”

Ziyal gave a series of nods with a rather bitter smile on her face. “I was lucky - Bajor let me return home. The children from Bajor grew up to be slaves to a few of the Great Houses - gifts from my father.” She laughed, a little sadly. “He didn’t expect me to return with a Federation commoner as a wife, though. _Yadik_ was never as good at planning ahead as he thought.” 

Julian looked at Elim for support, but his smile had similarly faded. _Dammit_. He should really learn to keep his mouth shut. Really, where did he get the idea that asking such personal questions. 

“I… Please forgive me, I didn’t… I didn’t mean to broach an uncomfortable subject.” He said quietly, looking down at his glass. 

After a tense moment of silence, Ezri clapped her hands together, beaming. “Oh! I forgot to mention - I came up with a new plot twist for Audrid today...” 


	9. Chapter 9

Cardassians tended to take their dinner much later than humans to escape the heat, so by the time they finished eating and drinking, Julian was ready for bed. Ziyal bid him goodnight and retired to their bedroom, while Ezri took the time to show him the guest quarters and the bathroom. “Just holler if you need anything. We're right down the hall. Or I guess the guards will hear you too, but they don't come inside. Anyway. Night!” 

Just as she walked away, he saw Elim amble past the guest room and towards the small reading room next to it. Julian’s heart sank. He ducked into the room before the Cardassian saw him looking, leaning against the door and letting himself sink to the floor. 

Julian had realized fairly quickly in his life that most people didn't like him. Sure, he kept trying, maybe even trying too hard, but deep down he knew that it was pointless. He wasn't like them. He was unnatural in more ways than one, too eager to please and too much to handle. As he became older and saw his friends paired off in romantic relationships, Julian began to doubt if there would ever be a person out there who could accept him as he was. 

_It turns out I can’t even make the man I married want me_ , he thought morosely. After their wedding night, Elim had been avoiding him as though he was contagious. Sure, he was friendly and helpful and spent time with him when asked, but he did so at an arm's length. He handled Julian as a rare crystal vase that he was afraid to touch lest it shatter. 

Julian wondered what particular thing about him was so repellent. Was this because he was human? Because he was young? Because he wasn’t a “proper” man? Cardassia wasn’t a place for easy answers. Things were always shifting here, blurred and undifferentiated. His thoughts kept going in circles. After what felt like a long time of trying to will himself to sleep, Julian threw a woven blanket over his shoulders, and went out to the veranda. 

The house enclosed a small courtyard; little more than a couple of benches, some plants, and a pond. It seemed like a much more lavish home trying to fit into a smaller space, but something about it spoke to Julian. After all, Ziyal and Ezri had tried to carve out their own niche amongst people who were not on their side, much like he had been trying to reinvent himself. As he leant his elbows against the ornate iron railing of the balcony , he caught a glimpse of one of the three moons in the rippling water of the pond. 

“Can’t sleep?” He heard Ziyal ask from a few paces away, her voice soft. It didn’t seem to have the commanding presence it carried at dinner. She wore a simple sleeping tunic, hair cascading down her back. 

“Still getting used to Cardassian beds, I guess.” Julian said as casually as he could, straightening up from the balcony railing.

Ziyal leant against a nearby column and looked at her hands in front of her. “It took Ezri some time, too. Then again, we didn’t spend a lot of time sleeping after our enjoinment.” She smirked to herself, as if forgetting he was there. 

Julian blushed deeply at the insinuation, and turned away for a moment to hide the look on his face. When he looked back, he found it hard to meet her eyes. “I, um… I’m sorry, again, about what I said. At dinner. I just… wanted to understand, I guess. Elim is my enjoined now, and...” 

She looked into the distance; perhaps at the moon, or at one of the darkened windows of the house. From the veranda, the patrolling guards couldn’t be seen; it occurred to him that perhaps this was by design. When Ziyal turned back to face him, her eyes were full of cold fire. “And I hope _you_ understand what kind of family you married into. I hope you understand that the man who brought you here is the same one who shipped his only daughter off to Bajor just to make sure they believed he meant to end the slavery of their people.” 

Julian felt that gaping sadness open up again inside him. How stupid he felt, for wallowing in his own pity. Ziyal laughed, but it was hollow somehow; “I guess I was, I don’t know, a present? A spy? A hostage? I was five.” 

The scar on his chest ached in recognition. Julian was struck with a sudden wave of both anger and empathy. What was it about children that made people so willing to put them through hell for some greater good? He set his jaw for a moment, then let the expression fade from his face. “I’m... so sorry that you had to go through that…” 

“Well, you wanted to know. Now you know.”

“And, the Bajorans… they didn’t care?”

“That I was a Cardassian? I was a scared child who had just lost her mother, in a strange new place, who didn’t understand why she had to leave the only family she knew. I don’t think they ‘cared’ about anything else.” She let out a soft sigh, as if sharing the truth made her tired. “By the time I was born, Elim had already learned how to handle our father; that kept me safe, to a point.”

Julian opened his mouth, but not finding words, closed it again. Ziyal stood by him in silence, for a moment that seemed to stretch on forever.

“Bajor was my _home_ ,” she finally said, quiet. “It was my home for sixteen years. I found _life_ on Bajor. Faith. Art. Ezri. But my father had me on a string, and not even Elim could save me from having to come back here. I hope you don’t end up ensnared in his web like I did.”

She turned to look at him, nodded, and said. “Walk with the prophets Julian,”, before crossing past him and walking back into the house. Julian watched her go, before sighing and leaning against the balcony again.

Now, more than ever, Julian began to wonder if he’d made the right decision coming here. He’d come here to escape, only to fall head first into a house filled with bitterness and lies. Enabran Tain clearly held all the cards, and systematically manipulated the lives of others - Ziyal, the Bajorans, Elim... Julian feared it would eventually be him. And there was nothing he could do - he didn’t have the clout nor the intelligence to investigate all this himself without incurring the wrath of Tain. Julian rubbed his face, exhausted. He was lost, confused, and so very alone. Elim barely wanted to be around him, and Julian kept putting his foot in his mouth when meeting new people.

He didn’t need an escape now - what he needed right now was a friend.

Julian returned inside and walked down the hall, bypassing his own room and continuing to the next room down, to the reading room. The curtains were open, and the moonlight spilled in through the large circular window at the opposite end of the room, illuminating short, waist-high bookshelves, painting supplies, some pens and paper, and a collection of soft armchairs on a large round mat. Facing the window was a long settee, and Julian could see Elim’s feet hanging over the edge - but with the room this light, he could not be asleep. Julian stepped forward into the room, and watched as Elim immediately sat up and turned to see who had come in.

“Julian,” Elim sounded rather surprised. “Are you well? Has something happened?”

“I, no… I just-” Julian felt foolish even trying to explain why he was there, but he grit his teeth and then said it anyway. “I wanted to ask you to come to bed tonight. Please.”

Elim frowned, and rose from the settee to approach him, his tail twitching slightly. “I didn’t think you were comfortable with that.”

“I wasn’t. But I’d like to try.” Julian looked down on the floor, and rubbed his arms. “I don’t want to be alone tonight. And I don’t think you do either.”

“I’ve slept alone before.”

“That doesn’t mean you should.” Julian looked back up at him, and fixed him with a firm gaze. “I know how lonely you’ve been, and how much you’ve accommodated me. Ziyal and I were talking - I know how the Castellan treated you. Both of you.”

It was Elim’s turn to look away. “I don’t want your _pity_.” he growled, but his barely hidden anger did not dissuade Julian. Instead, he took a step further into Elim’s personal space.

“I’m not offering it,” he responded. “What I’m offering is comfort. From one product of a terrible father to another.”

Elim’s eyes widened a little. “Your father-”

“My father… exploited me.” Julian was careful not to reveal exactly what his father had done. “I came to Cardassia to escape him. But right now, I feel lonely, homesick and _tired_ , and I’m asking if you’ll come to bed and stay with me tonight.”

Elim didn’t reply, but he didn’t move away either. With only a slight hesitation, Julian stepped forward, and wrapped his arms around Elim’s neck. He waited a second, then two, before Elim sagged into his embrace, and returned it, as if uncertain how to hold him. Julian leant back, and took his hands, and led him back into the bedroom. It was perhaps testament to how tired the both of them were, how Elim easily folded into the bedclothes, and didn’t question Julian when he lay down beside him, and curled up against his back. The room was quiet, and the bed warm, and it was not long before sleep found the both of them.

BREAK

_The sea of Carðas lapped gently at the grey-black sand outside Lakarian’or. The beach was deserted, and Garak didn’t know if it was because of the cloudy weather, or because his father had the authorities clear the area ahead of time. Ziyal ran towards the water, squealing as the surf hit her legs and tail. She played in the waves for some time, as Garak watched her from just above the tide line, smiling faintly. Of course, she had never seen this much water at once. The river back home was nothing compared to the sea, not that she was allowed there very often. He looked over his shoulder, glancing disdainfully at the two silent figures who watched them._

_Tain had told him to get her out of town for a few days, while he saw to “arrangements.” Garak didn’t even want to know what that meant. He was just happy to spend some time with his sister before whatever happened next, happened. And something was going to happen; Garak could sense it. Enabran Tain wouldn’t have orchestrated something like this if he didn’t have a long game in mind._

_Ziyal ran back towards him and flopped on the sand, breathless and laughing. She looked happy; not like a child who had just lost her mother. He thought of Nal Dejar, and how much Ziyal resembled her. He had liked Dejar; she treated him kindly, in spite of what he was._

_“Had enough?” Garak asked, his voice betraying none of his troubled thoughts._

_“I’ll go again later,” Ziyal replied. Then, seemingly recovered, she sat bolt upright, and looked at him with fierce determination. “Elim! Are there_ khen'nara _in the sea?”_

_Garak laughed and looked out over the water. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe? Some people say they’re all dead. But maybe you’ll find one someday.”_

_Beside him, Ziyal giggled. Drawing her knees up to her chest, she grabbed a handful of hand and let it slip through her small hands. This didn’t entertain the young girl for long, as she soon wandered off for a minute and returned with a small piece of driftwood. Newly interested, she got on her hands and knees and began to draw large shapes in the wet sand. Garak’s eyes lingered on the horizon, though he kept an ear on his young charge._

_Then, out of nowhere, she said, “I think_ yadik _is going to send me away.”_

_With a heavy heart, Garak tore his gaze away from the sea. “Where did you hear that?”_

_“I heard him talking...”_

_Garak sighed. Ziyal was the only person in all of Cardassia that he found it difficult to lie to._

_“Listen, Ziyal… Our_ yadik _...he is not a nice person. Sometimes he does nice things, like letting us come on this trip together, but down under all of that, he has a cold heart. Do you understand?”_

_Ziyal looked at him thoughtfully, then at her drawing. Garak thought it looked sort of like a zebu. “So… bad people are ones that do bad things?”_

_“Well… no. Sometimes good people have to do bad things, or are… forced to do bad things.”_

_“So how do you tell who’s good and who’s not?”_

_He sighed again and put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Well, to be honest, I’m still trying to figure that out myself.” Garak flashed her a playful grin before poking her nose, causing her to giggle. “But I’ll let you know once I do.”_

_She fell against his side, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I don’t wanna go, Elim. What if it’s not nice there?”_

_“Ziyal, listen to me. I know you probably don’t understand this right now, and it’s scary, and things are confusing, but believe me when I say that going away might be the best thing for you. I’ll miss you, but we’ll see each other again, and when we do, you’ll understand better the sorts of things our_ yadik _does.”_

The sea receded, and Elim Garak woke up.

He blinked up at the ceiling, mind floating somewhere between dream-recollection and reality, until he rubbed his eyes and chased the fuzziness away. He never could escape his sentimentality in dreams, although he made effort to keep it at bay in his reality. His father would want him to keep it at bay in both scenarios, and would certainly have Words To Say about acting on such sentimentality - for example, visiting his sister or daring to _have_ a dream once in a while. _Well_ , Garak thought to himself, _Father perhaps already knew where Julian and himself had vanished off to, but he didn’t have to know about his dreams._

He rolled over, intending to go back to sleep, but his back came into contact with some hard mass curled behind him. He froze, confused, before shifting and turning over more carefully to get a better look. Julian lay behind him, bleary eyed, face half hidden in the pillows, clearly not fully awake.

How did _he_ get there? For that matter, Elim had moved to the bed.

“Stop moving.” Julian mumbled swatting at him. Elim opened his mouth to reply, but Julian had already reburied himself in the duvet, face out of sight. Frowning, he tried to recall the events of last night. There was dinner, then drinks, then he’d gone to Ziyal’s reading room...

Ah, yes. Julian had visited him in the middle of the night, and asked him to come back. His defenses had been down, and he’d been _sentimental._ Sentimental, lonely, and really sick of sleeping on settees. Stupid, _stupid…_

As he tried to leave the bed, Julian reached out and grabbed his arm. “Hey. Don’t leave.”

“Can I not go to the bathroom?” Elim asked lightly. Julian cracked open one eye, and looked at him.

“You’re not going to the bathroom,” he replied, simply, “You’re trying to escape.”

 _I’ve really lost my touch,_ Elim thought to himself. Carefully, he settled back into the bed.

“You can’t force me to stay here,” he said to Julian, who was looking remarkably smug.

“No, but I can ask,” Julian replied, and Elim sighed.

“I’m certain a young thing like you would prefer nicer things to warm your bed than a middle-aged _bastard_ child.”

Whatever joviality Julian was expressing vanished. “Don’t,” he murmured, “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“It’s _not_.” Julian propped himself up on one elbow. “I’d prefer _you_ here.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t particularly like the alternative.”

Elim scoffed. “My sleeping on a settee is not _that_ _awful-”_

“The alternative is me going back to the Federation, living in a house that doesn’t recognise who I am, and being unable to do _anything_ with my life.” Julian’s voice was flat. “You can’t sleep on the settee forever, and I don’t want to go back to my parents. Ergo, you stay _here_.” 

“There are other beds in my home. I’m not exactly giving up all my luxuries for this enjoinment-”

“Elim.”

Julian’s quiet vocalisation of his name made him pause. Beside him, he felt Julian sink back into the mattress, with a _flump_ that felt a little too aggressive.

“Elim,” he said again. “What’s your problem with me?”

Elim blinked, thrown. “I’m sorry?”

“What’s your problem with me? What don’t you like about me?” Julian’s voice was filled with pent-up frustration. “You barely speak to me, you won’t tell me anything about yourself, and every night you slope off to sleep at the opposite end of the house! What _is_ it about me that bothers you?”

This was not the way Elim expected this conversation to go. “I- well, _nothing_. I’d prefer you to be comfortable-”

“That’s not it. You’ve been _friendly,_ sure, but half the time you won’t come near me, and won’t speak to me unless I go looking for you.” Julian sighed, and the fight seemed to leave him. “You’re hiding from me, and I’d like to know why.”

Elim swallowed. “I- I apologize. I didn’t mean to make you feel unwelcome.”

“Is it because- because of the whole gender thing I’ve got going on? Because if it is-”

“No- no, that’s not the issue. You know by now us Cardassians are far more… fluid in terms of gender than the Federation is. Your gender isn’t an issue at _all_.”

A certain kind of tension seemed to dissipate out of Julian’s body. “Alright. Then what is going on?” 

Elim paused, and gathered his thoughts. “It’s… our circumstances. When my father announced he was arranging our enjoinment, I wasn’t the _happiest_ of sons. I was in a relationship, and had my life organized as I liked it, and suddenly I was being asked to give parts of it up for a stranger I’d never met.”

“You were asked to change your life on your father’s whim.” 

“Mmm. I did not intend to take out my bitterness on you. I had expected that you’d be in the same boat - that you’d be an older Cardassian child of some dignitary who wanted to marry for appearances, and then would do your own thing.”

“Except I wasn’t.” Julian’s lip curled wryly. “I was a young Federation boy, who’d never seen the world. The furthest I’d ever been was Bajor.”

“As I found out later. But I treated you like I would’ve treated the person I expected.” Elim shook his head. “I should’ve known better. You told me this was your first time outside your homeland, that you didn’t speak Kardasi - I should’ve been more supportive. You didn’t need a babysitter, but you needed… a guide. A friend.”

“I should’ve come here more prepared, admittedly.” Julian laughed, a little self-deprecating, but Elim shook his head.

“We were all young and foolish once upon a time.” Elim smiled. “But even older spouses are unprepared when moving to a new land. To make things worse, _you_ were moved into a house that practically _enforces_ solitary existence. You moved into a place you knew nothing about for _me_ , and I didn’t _think_ for a moment that maybe I should’ve tried to make you feel welcome, to make certain you weren’t alone. And I am _incredibly_ sorry for that. I promise I will do better.”

“Thank you.” Julian’s thanks was quiet, but firm. “I don’t know how I would’ve reacted had my father broken up my relationship to marry a stranger…”

“We’re still friends.” The word ‘friends’ seemed sour in Elim’s mouth. “I think that helps.”

“Still…” Julian shifted a little. “I just… I just want you to know, you can still be with Kelas.” 

“Kelas?” Elim was caught off-guard again. “I don’t believe I said…”

“I… I kind of figured out you two were involved before I came along. I don’t know if you had a nasty break-up or-”

“No, no…” Elim sighed. “I’m… not certain if you’ve realised, but Father perhaps… did not have kind intentions when arranging our enjoinment.”

“He found out about you two?”

“We think so. Father had already lost one child to an... _unappealing_ enjoinment. It would be deeply shameful if he lost another, especially to a servant class citizen.”

Julian nodded in understanding. “Well, I know how much Kelas means to you. I don’t want you to feel like our marriage is stopping the two of you being together.”

“You’d be… comfortable with us together?”

“Mmm.” Julian laughed a little. “Let’s be honest, I didn’t come here because I found myself wildly and irrevocably in love with you. We never even saw each other until our wedding day.”

“No, I guess not.” Elim smiled a little. “You wouldn’t mind…?”

“Honestly, it would be nice to see a little joy in the house. It’s been… depressing, since the wedding. I like you both, and I want you both happy.”

A little overcome, Elim simply patted Julian’s hand, and said; “Thank you. And if you ever find someone...”

Julian laughed. “I doubt there are many Cardassians who’d take the Human enjoined partner of the Castellan’s son to bed. But I appreciate the sentiment.” 

_Sentiment_. There it was again. Elim could almost hear his father’s teeth grinding at yet another display of the accursed emotion. But Julian was happier now, and settled back into the bed with a sigh, and Elim would be lying if he himself did not feel much better now that they’d spoken.

He sighed, and settled back down into the mattress. His father didn’t have to know _everything_ that happened to him, after all.


	10. Chapter 10

Occasionally, Kelas really wished people in this house told them what in the nine lands was going on. 

First, the wedding, and how everyone had forgotten to tell them exactly whose wedding it was until a week before. Then, business as usual, and all the secrets Elim either couldn’t or wouldn’t tell them. And now, this… unexplained trip. A trip to visit the heiress of the family, and Castellan Tain had found it necessary to dangle _that_ interesting tidbit in front of their nose hours after they’d left. A deeply romantic affair - new husband gets to meet the adoring family… 

Kelas stabbed his trowel deep into the herb bed he was preparing. Elim never introduced Kelas to the family in an _official_ capacity when they were courting. Kelas was the secret lover, Kelas got the fun of sneaking around after hours, stealing kisses when no-one was looking, terrified someone would tell the Castellan. No, Kelas had to meet Elim’s family in an entirely unromantic capacity, by bumping into his sister and her wife at a bar and spending ten minutes figuring out why she looked _so_ familiar. It wasn’t _fair_. 

They sighed, and began making sure their display of frustration hadn’t actually damaged the plants. It wasn’t fair, but what could they do about it? Elim was terrified of his father, Kelas knew that, and Elim would do anything to win Tain’s good graces. Fates, Elim even recognised that this fatherly bond was unhealthy, but getting him to cross his father in any meaningful capacity was like pulling teeth. Not that Kelas _didn’t_ understand what was at stake - House Tain practically ran the land, and no-one would even blink if the Castellan’s bastard son ended up dead for disobedience. It was a miracle Elim was still _alive,_ given that most houses killed their bastard children - but then again, most houses perhaps did not expect to have to give their only legitimate child to Bajor, and have that child return married to someone… unsuitable. The marriage of Tain’s bastard son was, rather ironically, the Castellan’s best opportunity to avoid scandal.

And their thoughts were back to the wedding. They always seemed to go back to it, even with the keening pain it brought. Their brain obsessed over it - how it should’ve been _them,_ how Elim would’ve made good on their shared late night whispers, and whisked them away back to Indar, where they could have more than furtive fumbles in the dark. Sometimes he wanted to be bitter about it, to hate both Elim and Julian for it, but how could they? Elim was still their closest friend, and Julian… well, Kelas didn’t know him well, but their last class showed an innocent man knee-deep in things he didn’t understand. Kelas had nearly refused when Elim asked them to teach him, and had tossed and turned all night about it, full of heartache, but Julian was… kind. He tried his best in a horrible, fateless situation, and how could Kelas hate him for that? 

The only person they could hate was Castellan Tain, for messing with the lives of three people whose lives were not his to interfere with. Kelas would never say it aloud, but honestly, _fuck_ Tain. Kelas hoped he stepped on _rhūsse_ thorns for the rest of his sorry life. 

As Kelas was planting another row of Indaric mint, the gravel of the driveway began vibrating in anticipation of a carriage, and before long they could hear the pants and grunts of the working riding hounds pulling it. Kelas looked up to see one of Tain’s fleet of nondescript grey carriages pull up into the front courtyard, and it didn’t take much guesswork to figure out who was inside. Within seconds of it stopping, Julian came tumbling out, talking animatedly, with Elim close behind. Kelas’ heart gave an involuntary pang. _Stupid, jealous heart…_

“Doctor Parmak!” Julian bounded over with the energy of an over enthusiastic puppy, “How great to see you!” 

“You’ve only been gone two days,” Kelas laughed, and that laugh whisked the jealousy into a back crevice of their mind. “You enjoyed the trip?” 

“Ziyal and Ezri were _lovely,_ and the dinner was good. Ezri told us all about her latest novel.” There was something about the trip that Julian wasn’t telling them, but Kelas wasn’t going to pry. 

“That’s good.” They turned to Elim. “And you enjoyed seeing Ziyal again?” 

“As I always do.” Elim smiled. “She sends her regards.” 

“That's kind of her.” Kelas turned back to the bed of herbs. “Back to business, now you've returned from your break?” 

“Mmm. Father wishes to speak to me about it.” Elim didn't look particularly enthused about the prospect. Kelas couldn't blame him. 

“And I'll be back to wandering the halls in search of something to do,” Julian grinned. “Speaking of which, is there anything you need help with here?” 

Kelas shook their head. “Not unless you've got the magic to cast cleaning charms.”

Julian laughed, but to Kelas’ ears it sounded… forced? “Unfortunately not. I'm guessing a wash is in order?” 

“Mmm,” Kelas picked at their gardening clothes, cringing a little at the dirt. “I'll have to wait an hour before the Castellan opens the baths to the serving staff-”

“The baths?” Julian echoed.

“The baths... in the cellar?” Seeing the blank look on Julian’s face, Kelas shook their head. “Elim is really getting on in years if he forgot to mention such an important part of the house to you.”

“I'm not _that_ old,” Elim sniffed, “I've not been around to use them. I expected Sokoa to show him.”

“I… I guess I just assumed Cardassians didn’t bathe. What with the scales and all,” Julian added. 

Kelas looked at him for a few moments before breaking into uproarious laughter, and it wasn’t long before Elim joined in. Julian looked between both of them before also letting out a nervous chuckle. 

“Take him along when you go, Kelas,” Elim said approvingly before glancing at the house as if remembering something. “I have some... business to attend to, or else I’d join you.” He gave a quick nod to Kelas before departing in the direction of the main house. 

Kelas watched as a small piece of Julian’s smile faded with Elim’s departure. What exactly _had_ transpired between them when they were away? 

“Why… why don’t you go upstairs and put your things away, Julian,” they said as they returned to their plants, not wanting to look at Elim walk away. “I’ll come get you when it is time.” 

BREAK

As promised, an hour later Kelas dressed themself for the baths, and went to fetch Julian from his room. They took Julian to a small room on the first floor, its rippled glass door protecting the bathers’ privacy as they changed clothes. The room contained little save for some benches, bins for laundry, and a set of stairs going into the cellar of the house.

The air began to get hotter as they descended the stairs, which ran along the wall until they were underneath the mosaic courtyard. When they finally reached the bottom, Kelas heard an audible gasp from Julian. In the center of the baths was a large shallow pool of water, heated by volcanic vents running underneath the cellar, with cool marble ledges on which to stretch out and enjoy the heat. Rooms with more privacy , separated with gauzy curtains, split off from the central chamber; some with their own smaller pools, others simply with benches on which to sit and enjoy the heat. The high vaulted ceilings, dotted here and there with soft glowing lights, collected the steam and sent it back down, leaving condensation on every surface. 

“Do they not have this where you are from?” Kelas asked, turning to look at him.

“No! Absolutely not...” Julian exclaimed in disbelief. His voice attracted the attention of a few of the servants who had arrived before them. They looked at Julian with a mix of curiosity and confusion, not expecting a member of the House to have joined them, but Kelas held up a hand as if to say this was fine. 

Along the wall by the stairs were a series of taps which provided cold water for rinsing before entering the main pool, and Kelas explained how to work the spigots. Not waiting for Julian to start, Kelas shrugged out of their bathrobe and thoroughly washed the sweat and dirt from their earlier work off their skin, the cool stream sending their hair cascading down their back. They flicked a look towards Julian, making certain he wasn’t having trouble, and saw him quickly look away from them, blushing. Did they just catch Julian admiring them? Elim used to watch them bathe too, sneaking in during the servants’ bathing hour as if nobody would notice. Kelas frowned at the memory, and shook their head, clearing it from their mind. They didn’t need to think of _that_.

“Well, I’m going in,” they said, stepping away from the cold stream and into the central pool. As the warm water hit their scaled skin, they let out a tired sigh, submerging themselves more fully. They turned to see if Julian had come into the bath - and blinked when they noticed Julian was showering with some odd, striped clothes on, which covered everything from his shoulders all the way down to his thighs. They waited for Julian to join them, and saw him hesitate for a moment before taking a few rushed steps after them and sitting down on the ledge, still in those odd clothes. 

“Do many people bathe in their clothing in the Federation?” they asked, eyeing the frankly ridiculous striped garment Julian was wearing. 

“Oh, um.” Julian blushed beet red, and ducked his head. “No. I just… I guess I’m not used to being naked in front of people.”

“Then how _do_ you bathe?”

“Privately. We have… tubs, that our servants fill with hot water when we need it.”

“Well, that sounds awfully hard work.” Kelas carefully rolled in the water to rest their forearms on the edge of the bath, smiling a little when Julian’s eyes flickered down their body again. Realising he was caught, Julian looked straight ahead, and Kelas amusedly noted his blush could and did reach beneath his bathing suit. 

“So how often do you get to use these?” Julian asked, clearly trying to distract them. “Weekly? Monthly?”

“Weekly. As household physician, I get privileges to use it more to keep clean, and of course we can use it with the permission from a member of the household.”

“And you get three hours for all the staff?”

“The staff and their families.” Kelas indicated to the fairly quiet pool. “It’s early now, but it’ll get busier later - many folk with children will bring them in close to bedtime so they’ll sleep better.”

“And how many people who come here are slaves?” 

The question was asked casually, but Kelas could hear a note of steeliness in his voice. _The boy’s been learning,_ they thought. _Good._

“None.” Kelas replied carefully. “Staff have a three hour window to use the baths, but the slaves don’t have the privilege.”

“No pay, and no baths.” Julian’s mouth was a thin line. “It’s barbaric.” 

“It is.” Unlike Elim, Kelas was not one to couch life here in pretty metaphors. “They wash in the river, about half a mile from here.” 

“But that must be full of all sorts - parasites, pollution…”

“It is. They get sick from it too. I hold a free clinic for them, and Elim’s been lobbying the Castellan hard for them to have at least an hour in the baths, but…”

“But nothing’s changing.” Julian sunk deeper into the water, looking resigned. “I feel like that’s a common refrain around here.”

“Mmm. But still, we try.” 

Julian was silent for a few moments, and Kelas could feel the cogs in their head turning. “Is there nothing I can do? I saw how the protestors were treated, when I saw them a week ago - there has to be _something..._ ”

It was Kelas’ turn to be quiet. They knew there was one way Julian could help, but Julian would need to meet with sympathisers to understand what could be done. And Kelas knew the Castellan would be watching closely for anyone sympathizing with the rebels, especially given the growing discontent in the city. It would be hard, but perhaps…

“Perhaps I can find you something to do,” Kelas murmured, and Julian smiled.


	11. Chapter 11

Elim joined Kelas and Julian in the baths following his meeting with Tain, but it wasn’t all good news. Elim would be away again on business until tomorrow, and would have to leave immediately after his morning bath. Kelas too was working - they were holding their clinic for serving staff tomorrow, and would be busy all day. Left on his own for what felt like the first time since the wedding, Julian found himself wandering the estate. After lunch, he browsed the library, running his fingers idly over the spines of the books. Tain’s collection was much more extensive than his own father's, not to mention older. It contained a great many volumes on political and military history, lushly illustrated atlases, as well as some of the epics he had heard Elim mention. He even found a couple of books in Bajorla and Trill, much to his surprise.

He liked to think that the speed at which he was picking up Kardasi was more his own dedication than the magic that lived inside him. The alternative left a sour taste in his mouth; if everything he'd done so far had been helped by someone else, than where did that leave him? Still, it helped that he was so immersed in the language, hearing it spoken far more often than he heard anything else.

Julian eventually spotted a section of what the Cardassians called “enigma tales” - roughly the equivalent of the mystery novels he had grown up with. Elim had told him they were his personal favorite when he showed Julian the library, and some small part of him wanted to know more about the person he had married. 

He pulled one out at random and sat down by the window. As much as he tried to focus on the book, he found his thoughts wandering to its previous reader. He wondered if Elim had selected this title for the library personally. Perhaps it had been a gift. Perhaps he read it with Kelas, in bed, reciting favorite passages out loud in that strangely pleasant voice of his. 

No, no no - Julian shook his head as if that would get rid of the thoughts. He couldn’t let himself think like that. Elim was just… they were only friends, if that. They were…. Business partners. Yes, that was it. Just a simple, mutually beneficial arrangement between two parties. Julian got a couple of chapters into the book, but wasn't finding it terribly interesting. For one thing, it was already established from the start that everyone was guilty of something. It really took the fun out of guessing who was the person responsible. He wondered if this reflected more on Elim’s taste in literature than on some cultural divide. It was kind of fun to picture Elim reading this sort of thing, getting engrossed in the elaborately described settings, trying to puzzle out the solution even as it was implied by the very nature of the story. That image stood in such stark contrast to the distinguished, well-spoken version of Elim that Julian couldn’t help but laugh to himself.

Realizing with a start that his thoughts were wandering once more, he snapped the book shut, and put it back on the shelf.

“Maybe I need some fresh air…. Mother always said there’s nothing a walk can’t fix.” 

With a renewed sense of purpose, he went outside, around the glass box of the solarium, past the east wing of the house and the manicured gardens, to the stables. He had been here before, when Elim was out on business - Sokoa had shown him around, and he knew it to be somewhere where he could calm himself. 

He paused as he passed the smaller building half-hidden behind the corner of the house - the slave quarters. There was a clear distinction on the estate between the different classes of people that served the House of Tain. The servants who lived on the third floor were primarily Cardassian, and while they were definitely subservient to the family, they nonetheless enjoyed certain privileges. Below them were the slaves, human and Bajoran and various other peoples, who were largely administered by the servants. They were to be neither seen nor heard, their work the only proof of their existence. He wondered if all the Great Houses treated their slaves like this, or if Enabran Tain was the exception. On the west side of the estate there was a plain-looking building which he knew to be the barracks housing the Castellan’s personal guard; he didn’t go near that building. Something about it filled him with fear. It made Julian uneasy that people tended to back away from him wherever he went. Back home, he enjoyed a friendly, comfortable relationship with the handful of servants his father employed. Sure, they saw him as an overgrown child, but Julian did not consider them beneath him in any way. He was especially close to their gardener, Keiko, and her husband Miles - and of course, they were the ones who helped him transition when he came out as a man. He felt a slight ache in his chest - he really did miss them. Rubbing the slight ache, he made a mental note to enquire about sending a letter to them. 

When he reached the stables, he felt as though his head had cleared somewhat. It was always more peaceful here somehow, with only the gentle yipping of the animals to fill his mind. He asked if he could feed the riding hounds and the stablehands obliged, giving him a pail with pieces of meat to distribute to the animals. There was one hound in particular that he’d taken a liking to, smaller than the others and housed at the back of the stables, and it yipped cheerfully as Julian crouched beside it. He patted its bristly mane as the hound it ate, and had saved the larger pieces of meat for this one. 

“Get big and strong now,” Julian muttered quietly as the hound licked meat juices from his hand. “Maybe one day I’ll ride you all the way back -” He stopped abruptly, because the end of that sentence suddenly did not seem so apparent. Back _home_ , he would have said. But more and more he didn’t know where that was. Was it with his parents, who only loved his shadow? Was it here in Cardassia, with Elim? That didn’t seem right, either. Elim had his own life, and it only intersected with Julian’s now and again. 

Where was his home?

“Ah, Mister Bashir.” He straightened, and turned - Sokoa stood in the doorway, watching him with interest. “I thought you might be here.”

“Came to see the hounds,” Julian smiled, pressing one last pat to the hound’s head and getting up from his haunches. “This one’s my favourite.”

“Ah, the runt of the litter.” She came over and, bending her knees and balancing on her tail, offered her hand to the hound, who enthusiastically sniffed it. “The Castellan hadn’t intended to keep it, but Mister Garak insisted.”

Julian smiled. “Have you ever ridden one?”

“Oh, fates no. My parents could never afford it, and only members of the House are allowed to ride these.” Sokoa gave the animal a pat, before dropping her hand. “Besides, I prefer physical sports to hound riding.”

“Physical sports?” Julian felt himself grin. “I used to play tennis back home!”

“I’ve heard of that.” Sokoa’s eyes seemed to brighten. “It’s similar to our _torak_. I played that when I was younger.”

“Do you still play?”

“No - I switched to _korta_ after I was emergent. Have you heard of that?”

“No.”

“It’s not really played outside our borders.” She apprased him for a moment. “But I can teach you.”

“Really? I haven’t done any sports since the ceremony - I’d love to get back in shape.”

“I have duties to perform right now - but I should be free this afternoon. Meet me on the back veranda? The garden beyond that should provide ample room for a makeshift court.”

The grin Julian gave her was nearly blinding, “Of course!”

BREAK

Shortly before dinner, Julian joined Sokoa on the back veranda for a game of _korta_. A bit like rugby, _korta_ involved two players trying to get a ball to the opposite sides of the court, except you couldn't move with the ball in hand, and it wasn't illegal to kick sand in your opponent's face. He had never played before, but the seneschal was a patient teacher and explained the rules and objectives as they came up. More than anything else, he found himself relishing the exhilaration of movement again. It let him escape the echoing halls of his own brain for a while, and give himself over to pure physicality, thinking only about the objective in front of him. Sokoa had him pinned down a foot away from the ball when the looming spectre of Enabran Tain approach their makeshift court.

Sokoa stood immediately and bowed. “Castellan. What may I do for you?” 

Tain held up a hand, and she seemed to relax slightly. “I’d like to borrow our young friend here for a moment.” 

Julian gave Sokoa an uncertain look, but she nodded as if giving him permission - or perhaps it was assurance. Somewhat reluctantly, he got off the ground, and followed after Tain as the older man set off to the gardens proper. 

"You really are making great strides with your Kardasi," Tain mused as they walked slowly through the garden. 

"Oh... Thank you. I have something of a knack for languages."

"Elim is treating you well, I hope?"

Julian paused, remembering the week of sleeping alone, of wondering where his husband was. He thought of the glances that passed between Elim and Kelas, and the conversation in Ziyal’s guest bedroom. 

"Yes. I am very happy," He said finally, hoping that the moment of hesitation didn't betray his true feelings.

They walked in silence until they came to an elaborate flower bed. A Bajoran woman tending the plants saw them approach and hurriedly bowed, backing away. Julian frowned slightly, but Tain showed absolutely no awareness of her having been there. 

"I was wondering if you might help me with something, Julian."

"Help you? What can I do?"

"I was meant to meet with someone tomorrow, you see, in the capital. An official from the Transport ministry; Zurvek Maat is his name. Only my health seems to have other ideas. Doctor Parmak has specifically prohibited me from leaving the estate until I am better. Perhaps you might... go in my stead?"

Julian's eyes widened. "But I don't know anything about transport-"

"No need to worry. I will give you some documents to hand over and then you can simply let him enjoy your company for an hour or so. I’ll have Sokoa arrange a carriage for you."

“I-” But Tain turned away, and it seemed as though the matter was already settled. Julian found himself unable to protest any further. “Fine. I’ll leave tomorrow morning.”

“Good.” Tain smiled, and touched his fingers to Julian’s elbow. “Speak to me once you return. Oh, and if you keep this conversation between us…?”

“Of course.” Tain turned, and Julian watched him walk away in the direction of the barracks. He frowned to himself, before turning and returning to his abandoned game, which Sokoa was unfortunately absent from. But he could not focus, and soon returned inside, rerunning the conversation in his head.

What was _that_ about?


	12. Chapter 12

_Julian wasn't scared. Well, he was, but he was mostly confused. His parents said they were all going on a trip but this place didn't seem very fun. His mother held his hand while his father gave something to an older man with a scarred face. Finally, she nudged him along. "Go on, Julia. Go with the nice man here. We'll be waiting right here when you come back."_

_Julian did as he was told; he usually did, but people often got mad anyway. He didn't know why._

_The man with the scarred face took him to a room with many books and candles. The air felt close, and Julian had trouble breathing. There was something drawn on the floor, a big shape, and he tried to walk along its intricate lines, but kept getting lost._

_Finally, Julian was given a bowl of some thick liquid and told to drink all of it. It tasted very sour, like bad fruit from the garden, and once he had drank the last drop, Julian could feel himself getting sleepy, and his arms and legs felt tingly, and it was difficult to move._

_"I need you to lie down and keep very still, child," the scarred man said out of the corner of his eye._

_"Why?"_

_"You'll scare them off."_

_Julian heard a voice - no, two voices? The fire from the candles seemed to get bigger, and there was a funny pain in the middle of his chest, but he didn't want to make the man angry so he lay as still as he could._

_Something bright flashed in the darkness, a single sharp curve, and he screamed as loudly as his lungs would let him-_

Julian woke up, though he could not immediately say why. Once again, the bedroom was empty. Julian could hear voices outside in the hall, rushed footsteps. Curiosity got the better of him, and he left the bed quietly, bare feet on the cold tiles jolting him fully awake. He padded out into the corridor, past the reading room, and into the ballroom, seeing Kelas on the other end.

“Get more water, quickly!” They were shouting, directing the servants this way and that. Julian also noticed that Kelas stood in the archway that lead to a rarely-used part of the second floor, one Elim failed to mention mentioning in his tour of the estate. 

He thought he heard someone cry out in pain further down the hall, and Kelas disappeared past the curtain for a moment before reappearing again and yelling. “I need that astringent!” Suddenly, Julian remembered that he hadn’t seen Elim since the morning. Of course, it could be anyone in that room, but Julian found himself unable to shake the feeling that perhaps something was very wrong. He still did not know what it was his husband did most of the time, what the exact nature of his job was. 

“Kelas…? What’s going on? I heard shouting…” Julian began, approaching the older Cardassian tentatively. 

“It’s nothing, Julian. Go back to sleep,” they replied; their voice sounded tired and distracted. Julian frowned, concerned.

“Can I… is there anything I can do to help?”

Kelas stepped forward suddenly, grabbing Julian’s forearm and leaning close. “You _cannot_ be here. Go. Now.” 

Julian flinched back; he had never seen Kelas this angry, in fact had never seen Kelas anything other than calm and collected. Something was wrong, and he knew it. Either with Elim, or someone else, and it was a big deal. He didn’t know what it was yet, but he could feel it. 

All families had secrets; he understood that well, having carried around his own secret for so many years. But something told him that the Tain family’s secrets were much bigger, much more dangerous than any he had encountered before. Shaken by the uncharacteristic way Kelas had acted, and worried for Elim’s safety, he went down the stairs and into the entry hall, walking through the spacious dining hall and into the kitchen. Finding a pitcher of water left over from the evening meal, he poured himself a glass and downed it quickly. There was a small side door here that led outside, out towards the kitchen gardens, the slave quarters, and the stables. He opened it, taking a deep breath of the cold night air, and leant against the doorframe. 

Here, in the silence of night, things seemed far away from him, distant enough that he could examine them logically and derive conclusions. He looked at the facts in front of him. The House of Tain was only one of several on the Detapa Council. However, it seemed to have a disproportionate amount of influence over the other houses and all facets of Cardassian life. This, Julian could not explain. He also could not explain how Elim Garak was connected to his father’s work. He knew, intellectually, that it was not his place to pry and ask questions. Perhaps Kelas and Elim had kept him out of all of this for his own protection. If Julian had been raised to be a proper wife, he would’ve kept his nose out of it and spent his days reading and tagging along with wherever his husband decided to take him.

Unfortunately, Julian had ignored all of those teachings.

He wondered why his mind kept going back to Elim. His absence, at this point, was not in itself an extraordinary thing. And it’s not like they had feelings for each other. But he couldn’t help wondering who the person upstairs was, the one crying out, the one obviously in need of emergency medical help.

Could it be…

“Can’t sleep, my dear?” Elim’s voice said behind him. Julian’s heart froze in his chest.

“Elim…” Almost without registering the movement, Julian turned and punched Elim in the jaw. Elim reeled back, clearly hurt and confused, but Julian followed the movement, and caught Elim in a tight embrace. He could almost feel the gears turning in Elim’s head, trying to make sense of what just happened.

“You _bastard_ ,” Julian muttered, leaning back a little to look Elim in the eye. “You absolute _bastard._ ”

“I don’t disagree with the epithet.” Elim murmured. “But I don’t _quite_ understand your anger.”

“Don’t _quite_ understand _-_ I thought it was _you_ Kelas was operating on!”

There was a beat of silence, before Elim’s expression morphed into a picture of surprise. “Oh,” he said, simply. “ _Oh._ ” 

“Yes, ‘oh’.” Julian disentangled himself from Elim, feeling more than a little peeved. “You go out yesterday on ‘business’, don’t come back that evening, then suddenly I get woken in the middle of the night to see Kelas is operating on someone but not saying _who,_ I think it’s _you,_ and an hour later youcome _swanning_ in _-_ ”

“I do not _swan_ -”

“Yes you did, you did it just now.” Julian sighed, and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t even know what you do with your time - all I’ve got is some vague foreboding feeling that this house has an awful lot of secrets, and one day they’re going to get someone in it killed.”

“Julian…” Elim pressed one hand to his elbow. “I’m fine. Really, there’s no need to worry about me-”

“Of course there is. I know we didn’t go into this marriage as bosom friends, but I _am_ fond of you. I like knowing you’re _safe_.”

Elim sighed, in the way he did when he clearly disagreed but had nothing better to say. “Come inside, Julian,” Elim murmured, “It’s far too cold to be standing in doorways.”

With one last look across the darkened grounds, Julian turned and followed Elim deeper into the house. The stream of servants carrying herbs and fresh, clean water up the stairs had not abated, but even in their hurried state they easily parted to let Julian and Elim pass through. They climbed the stairs to the ballroom, but instead of crossing it to access Elim’s bedroom, Elim led Julian to a second set of stairs, hidden behind a curtain, and separate to the one the servants were using. Julian found that this lead to the same corridor as the other staircase, only a little further away from Kelas’ rooms. Here, Elim settled him on a bench hidden in the shadows, and sat beside him, and Julian recognised that they were there to wait for Kelas.

Time dragged on for hours, it seemed. The stream of servants did not seem to abate, although their cargo did - whilst clean water was a common good delivered to Kelas’ door, the herbs and plants Julian had seen earlier changed from spiked succulents to gnarly roots. Julian recognised some of them, and knew the properties of their basic types - succulent sap was useful for burns and as an anesthetic, and for short term antisepsis. Roots could be for anything long-term, but the kinds being brought to Kelas were _mmūmnarhe_ , used to improve magic conduction across wounds, and _ðäūn-ȳläle_ roots _,_ used for dehydration and salt loss. The patient must have been hurt fairly bad for Kelas to be needing them, Julian thought, and his hypothesis was pretty much confirmed by the number of fabric bundles being taken out that were covered in black Cardassian blood and other bodily fluids.

At some point, Julian fell asleep on Elim’s shoulder, waking occasionally to review the situation, but going back to sleep within a few moments. But deep into the early hours of the morning, Julian felt Elim shift underneath him, and he sat up properly, blinking in the dawn light. Kelas stood at the end of the corridor, piling what was clearly the last of the bloodied linens into the arms of a young servant. As the servant rushed away with his load, Elim rose, followed by Julian, and approached the doctor, who was looking more and more exhausted the closer they came.

“Kelas,” Elim wrapped an arm around their waist and pressed a kiss to their forehead. “How was it?”

“I-” Kelas blinked. “Elim, your husband-”

“Knows, and is completely fine with you two.” Julian interrupted, laying a hand on Kelas’ arm. “Are you alright?”

“I’m…” Kelas seemed to struggle with words. “I’m alright. Tired.”

“And your patient?” 

“He’ll live. Though I doubt Pythas will be winning any beauty contests anytime soon.” 

“What happened?”

“I- I’m sorry, I don’t know how much I can tell you-”

“Kelas,” This time, it was Elim who spoke. “I think it’s time Julian knew.”

“Are you certain?” Kelas looked up at Elim. “Your father…”

“I’ll deal with him.”

They looked at each other for a long time, as if holding a silent conversation. Julian let them have this moment for as long as he was able, before he finally blurted out. “Time for me to know _what?_ ”

Neither Cardassian said anything for a moment, before Elim gave a sharp nod, and Kelas turned towards Julian.

“My patient was hit by a flare bomb.” Kelas murmured. “He was trying to arson a building - the destruction of which would’ve been blamed on the Bajoran rebellion.”

“A framing?” Julian asked. “But... why? Why would he do that? And why are you treating him? Shouldn’t he be at hospital?”

“He’s an intelligence operative. A spy. An assassin. He was a plant of the Obsidian Order - sent to disrupt the rebellion. And I’m treating him because this… this is the _home_ of the Order.”

“This, as in…”

“As in this _house._ House Tain is the center of the Order. And him-” Kelas pointed up towards the ceiling, “- _he_ is the Grand Master.” 

And then the penny dropped. All the weird happenings, the odd feelings Julian got about certain things, all fell into place. He stood in the middle of a hornet nest, filled with people who, perhaps, would not think twice about killing him if he took a step out of place. All the secrets now made sense - it was the _nature_ of the job. Everyone in this house lived and breathed secrets and half-truths, and even the thought of being mixed up in that made Julian’s skin crawl. Now he was rethinking everything he’d experienced - Tain’s ‘favour’, Elim’s business...

“You…” Julian turned to Elim, “Your business…”

“I’m an operative too,” Elim murmured, and Julian felt his heart sink. “Pythas was in my cell.”

“And you, Kelas?”

Kelas shook their head. “I… I patch them up. But I’m not an operative myself.”

“Right. Okay.” Julian rubbed his face, feeling distinctly not okay. “I… I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“It’s understandably a shock,” Elim murmured. “The things I have done… I won’t excuse them.”

Julian tried to think about that, and found he couldn’t even conceptualize them right now. Elim had been supporting the system that saw innocent Bajorans trapped in slavery. And Kelas supported him, and people like him, washing the blood from their skin, not knowing if it was theirs or the people they brutalized. The onslaught of images, the keen sense of betrayal and horror, it was all too much, and Julian’s head was _spinning-_

“It’s too late to talk about this right now.” Julian managed to get out. “I _can’t_ talk about this right now. You two - stay together tonight. I’ll cover for you-”

“Julian…” Kelas reached out, looking hurt, but Julian stepped back.

“I need to think. You have to understand - I need to _think_.”

“I understand.” Elim nodded, looking sad but not unsurprised. He wrapped his arm around Kelas’ waist, and tugged them away. “Kelas, love, let’s clean you up…”

Kelas looked back at Julian, as if to say something more, but let themselves be pulled away, back into their rooms. The door snapped shut, and Julian was left alone once more.


	13. Chapter 13

Julian left to perform Tain’s ‘favour’ early on _ta’tud_ morning. Elim watched through the round window of his father’s office as his carriage rattle and rumbled along the gravel drive and out through the gates. Julian had not told him where he was going, and despite Elim’s best efforts, no-one else seemed to know either. It wasn’t as if Julian was not allowed to go out by himself - certainly, Elim often spotted him roaming the grounds alone - but this would be the first time he’d left the complex by himself, and Elim was… nervous. Elim would’ve far preferred to travel with him, even if he waited in the carriage while Julian went about his business. And it didn’t help that Julian’s reaction to his confession last night had left Elim feeling unsettled. Did Julian not trust him? Did he not feel safe around him? Not that Elim would blame him...

Elim sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. When had he become so protective and possessive of Julian, anyway?

The door behind him opened and shut - too quiet for an ordinary citizen to hear, but Elim was no ordinary citizen. He pasted on a bland smile, and turned to watch his father walk forward, and settle behind his desk.

“You have good news, I trust?” Tain asked, without preamble.

“The papers have been returned.” Elim replied. “I couldn’t confirm if duplicates were made, but the originals are with the office.”

“And the Ferengi deputy consul?”

“Dead.”

Tain smiled. “I see enjoinment hasn’t softened you as much as your sister.”

“It’s duty.” Elim paused, then added; “Both the marriage and this. I suppose you’re reaping the rewards of our union already?”

“Perhaps.” Tain inspected something on his desk. “The political ramifications are producing their own rewards. And Julian is proving himself to be quite the assistant.”

“Assistant?” Elim frowned, suddenly concerned. “You haven’t hired him as an operative, have you?”

“Am I not allowed to?” Tain’s eyes were steel as he rose them to connect with Elim’s. “Don't tell me you’ve come to care for the boy already?”

“No, Father. My only concern is his... suitability.” And, of course, for the danger Julian would be putting himself in. Elim’s heart was pounding hard in his chest - this was a life he himself had been molded for, but if Tain had gone after _Julian…_

“You are concerned his temperment isn’t suited?” At Elim’s nod, Tain sighed. “He is… filled with Federation optimism. And you will be glad to know he is not one of _us_ yet for that reason.”

Elim let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “Of course.”

“He is merely undertaking a… favour, for me.”

“A favour? And that is why he’s left the grounds by himself?”

“Mmm. He’ll be capable enough for that, I think.” The smile faded slightly. “But enough on your enjoined. I would have you continue our activities with Ferenginar, but unfortunately a more immediate matter has arisen.”

Elim nodded. “Pythas. I saw Doctor Parmak working on him.”

“Doctor Parmak has told me that Pythas will not be able to return to the field. We have lost our inside man in this… rebellion.”

Elim felt an odd tickle at the back of his mind, as if he was supposed to make a link. “You want… _me_ to take his place? I fear I’d rather… stick out.”

“Oh, no. Not you. I will find a replacement at some point.” Tain steepled his fingers. “No, my issue is that this rebellion has become a touch… unruly.”

 _You’ve lost control, you mean_. Elim thought. “What would you have me do?”

“Nothing yet. But I do need you to act as… a preventative. I know that your sister sympathizes with the cause, as does her wife. Julian is Federation - it’s likely he will also sympathise.”

“You want me to prevent them defecting?”

“Ziyal has access to the family funds - if Ziyal diverts even the allowance she receives as my heir, all will be lost. There will be anarchy.”

 _Well, you’re a bit late for that. She’s already funnelling money into the revolution._ “And Ezri and Julian?”

“They’re easily misled, but very persuasive. If one of them defects, I fear their spouses will also defect.”

“You think I’ll defect?”

Tain smiled a sickly smile. “I hope none of my family defects. I would hate to have to take _drastic_ action.”

Elim shuddered. “You’ll have no trouble from me.”

“Good. And if you are not misled, then Julian perhaps will not be misled.” Tain turned back to his desk. “You may go. Julian should return in a few hours - I assume you can keep yourself occupied until then?”

Elim nodded, and left the room, and it was only when the door had shut behind him that he realised he was trembling. Tain had been careful to keep him away from the rebellion, given that he was immediately recognisable - if Tain was mobilizing the Order against the revolution, then he intended to crush anyone and anything in its way. He descended the stairs two at a time, before turning left and heading into Kelas’ lab. He needed to talk to someone he trusted about this. About the revolution. About Julian.

 _Julian,_ he thought, shaking his head. _Julian, what have you gotten yourself into?_

BREAK

Julian’s journey that morning was far longer than the one to Ziyal’s had been- Lakat was a good few hours to the west, across the dry Akakat steppe. In the early, dusty dawn light, Julian bundled himself into a carriage Sokoa had prepared for him, along with the documents and some important notes on his trip that Tain had seen fit to provide him. The length of the journey didn’t bother Julian - it would give him plenty of time to ruminate on last night.

Elim was a spy. An assassin. An operative. Julian felt this should not have been a surprise, and yet even thinking about it made him slightly ill. Only last week he was criticizing slavery and the regime with Ezri and Ziyal, and now it turned out Elim was supporting the regime all along. And Kelas too - although, Julian had to admit, he couldn't blame Kelas. They probably took an oath of some kind, like the doctors back in the Federation, meaning they didn't really have much choice in who they treated. And it wasn't like one could say no when living in the house of the kingpin himself...

Julian shook his head. Complication upon complication. Even the ‘favour’ Tain had assigned him looked far more complex than it should be. It looked like a simple three point plan - eat and converse with the minister Zurvek Maat, gift him a bottle of wine and a folder, then leave. Sokoa had given him a small booklet on the minister that he'd already read and memorized, but it wasn't much help - Julian just didn't get _why_ he needed to be there. The only clue was a short note Tain had written himself - _make certain the wine is drunk not sold; Maat deals in black market alcohol._ Was Tain trying to save the minister from being caught selling the wine? It was an odd way to go about it. And the wine didn't look _that_ valuable…

It was just before lunchtime when Julian's carriage pulled into Lakat. This city was distinctly different to Kardasi'or - while Kardasi'or was a city of two halves, of the wealthy upper class and the poorer service drones, Lakat looked equally as wealthy everywhere. The buildings did not aspire to the grand towers of the capital, but kept themselves tidy and elaborately decorated, and reminded Julian of the holiday homes along the coast of Erde. Lakat was also a smaller city than the capital, and so Julian had no trouble finding the place he was meant to meet his lunch companion - a grand restaurant, on the corner of the main street, which looked far more expensive than anywhere Julian had been to before. As he headed towards the front door, he caught a glimpse of a gallery further down the street. He wondered if the paintings from Ziyal’s exhibition were still being shown there, but realized with sadness that he likely would not have time for sightseeing.

The restaurant was dark when Julian entered it, but it was not hard to spot his lunchmate. Across the room sat an elderly Cardassian, older even than Tain, wearing a long, dark tunic similar to a morning coat, and small round glasses on the bridge of his nose. He was thinner than Tain too - Julian was certain that if they ever removed the black gloves on their hands, then he would be able to count every individual bone there. He approached the table, and the man looked up, his gaze cold and calculating. Julian bowed, and with a flash, the man seemed to recognize him, and he smiled, indicating to a chair.

“The Castellan, regretfully, cannot be here to meet you himself,” He said, putting on his most charming tone as he sunk into the chair.

“I see. That is a shame, but how often do the Fates let one meet a... _celebrity_ like you instead?” Zurvek Maat chuckled. Julian smiled his most polite smile, the one he would give to older men every time he had to go to a function with his parents and lost the Dress Argument. The newspapers had thankfully stopped reporting his every move after the first week, but Maat seemed to still think he was a big deal.

“I’m… just happy to be here,” Julian replied, “Cardassia is beautiful this time of the year - Lakat especially.”

Maat nodded, looking pleased at the compliment. “It is. But to business - I have a number of contracts I'd like to have the Castellan's eye on…”

Julian found that Tain's request to keep Maat talking was not that difficult. As soon as the first course was served, Maat began to drone on and on about fuel policy, and how Federation sea-faring ships were inferior to Cardassian design. Julian mostly focused his attention on the food, inserting a nod or a vague question where appropriate. He was still uneasy about the Castellan’s reasons for including him in this business, but everything he knew about Tain painted him as a man who should not be crossed, and so Julian attempted to fulfill his duties as best as he could. And if there was anything Julian was very good at, it was listening and talking at length.

“It’s good to hear that, Minister.” Julian smiled as the minister came to the end of another lengthy aside about the superiority of Cardassian coal. “But I nearly forgot - the Castellan wanted to give you this.” He withdrew the wine bottle from his bag, and the documents. “He knew of your interest in wines - he mentioned this would go well with the Indaric bass.”

“Which should be our next course.” Maat laughed, and accepted the bottle. “Hmm... a good vintage. A cream wine, I take it?”

“Mmhmm.”

Maat was quiet for a time, reading the label. “Well, l should've guessed.”

“Guessed what?”

“The brand - _Bacharat._ How well do you know Kardasi wines, Mister Bashir?”

Julian laughed, and rubbed the back of his head. “I know nothing about them, I'm afraid. Until I moved here, the only Kardasi drink I knew of was _kanar_.”

“You have much to learn, then. Kardasi wine is the finest in the nine lands. This particular variety-” Maat pointed at the wine. “-is new, but highly popular both here and in the eastern territories. It also happens to be a brand that wants to build a new rail system, from Ki Baratan in Romulus, directly to Kardasi'or, for easier import and export. The Castellan has been pushing hard for me to approve the link - and in that folder, I suppose he has included yet another proposal for it.”

 _Aha._ Now Tain's motivations were far clearer. Julian passed the folder across. “You don’t wish for there to be a direct link?”

“All our imports and exports from Romulus go via the border town of Dartha, for examination. We simply do not have the resources to organize another inspection point in the heart of Kardasi'or.”

Ignoring the folder, Maat picked up the gifted wine, and held it to the light. “Castellan Tain is certain that if I at least try the stuff, I'd perhaps understand the appeal, and why investing in it would improve the Cardassian economy.”

“Do you think it will?”

Maat gave him a thin lipped smile. “Well, I may not know the taste, but I certainly know how many _leks_ I can sell it for. Pour us the blue _zhi'ac'at -_ the one to your left. I'll put this aside for… later.”

Julian contemplated trying to convince Maat to drink the wine, but he knew when he was beaten. He smiled, and poured the _zhi'ac'at_ into both their glasses, already running several new scenarios in his head. He couldn't force the minister to drink it, as that would make the minister less likely to be amenable to the Castellan's request, but the call of _leks_ would perhaps be too much to overcome with mere persuasion. As he plotted, an aide of the minister came to the table, looking fairly concerned. The minister turned to talk to them, taking his eyes off of both bottles of wine, and Julian suddenly had a very bad idea.

He couldn't use sorcery.

He _shouldn't_ use sorcery.

But if he wanted to _succeed_ …

Ordinary magic was normally too weak or too specialized to pull something like this off, but Julian was a _sorcerer._ He concentrated for a moment, felt the magic pull into his chest, before his eyes flashed, and the magic sprung from his chest. The minister's glass, which Julian had only just filled, drained of wine in an instant. He then turned his attention to the bottle, and with another spark of magic, the cork of Tain's wine bottle suddenly fired into the air. While Maat had not noticed the draining of the wine, he had noticed the pop of the wine opening. He stared at the bottle for a few seconds, slightly stupefied, before breaking into a laugh.

“A self-opening bottle!” he cried. “I should've expected the Castellan to know I'd sell it rather than drink it.”

“He was very concerned that you wouldn't try it for him,” Julian replied, smiling slightly. “I just poured myself a glass of the other one - did you still want this one?”

Maat's eyes flickered towards his own glass, and Julian saw one eye-ridge rise at the sight of an empty glass beside him. Julian waited with bated breath as Maat sat silently for a moment, worried he'd been too obvious. He really didn’t want to have to use his sorcery to influence the man - that would perhaps be a step too far. But he was lucky - after a while, Maat shook his head.

“No - I'll try what the Castellan sent. Fates know, perhaps it'll get him off my back…”

The meal seemed to stretch on for hours, as plates were cleared and glasses emptied and refilled, and the Castellan's gift wine was slowly drained into Maat's glass. Julian kept wondering if this is the sort of work that Elim had been doing this whole time. Meeting dignitaries, being his usual charming self, only to manipulate things so that they’d meet with some unfortunate accident. But… Tain wouldn’t force _him_ to do that, would he? The very thought sent a shiver down Julian’s spine. This wasn’t like the novels he’d devoured as a youth, with dashing spies and fiesty damsels, this was… this was real. He couldn’t shake the sound of that Cardassian screaming out in pain on the operating table, the feeling of dread that settled around the entire house as they waited for news. Maat seemed not to have detected Julian’s anxiousness, nor seemed to be concerned about being made to drink the wine, and continued to drone on. But just when it seemed as though his companion would never stop talking, an aide came up to their table and whispered something into his ear.

“Ah, how unfortunate - it seems we must cut our meal short.” Maat announced. _I hate to think what he considered a long meal,_ Julian thought, looking at the small pile of empty plates they had produced.

“Indeed, but surely a man of your position has many competing demands for your time,” Julian said, inclining his head slightly. “I’m honored that you’ve chosen to give me a portion of it.”

The man wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin before standing up, wine bottle empty and folder in hand. “Do pass on my regards to the Castellan. And let him know I'll be in touch soon regarding his… proposal.”

Julian nodded and stood also. “I will certainly do that. Thank you again for your time.”

Julian watched as the minister walked away, his aides bobbing in his wake, trying to catch up. With a smile that was bordering on exhausted, Julian picked up his things, and left the establishment. He didn’t let out a shaky breath until he was safely back in the carriage and on his way to the Tain residence. Nobody in their right mind would say that he had done anything suspicious or out of the ordinary, and yet Julian could not shake the feeling that he had not made the right choice.

Although he felt drained after the encounter with Maat, Julian dutifully presented himself to Tain’s attic study when he returned to the estate. The Castellan seemed pleased with his performance.

“Marvelous. Simply marvelous.” He said, beaming, though Julian didn’t sense any warmth behind his eyes.

“Well… if that’s everything?” Julian ventured. “I hope your health improves.”

“I’m feeling better already, thank you,” Tain assured him. Julian did not feel reassured.

That evening, Julian took a light dinner of _lennet_ salad and _etta_ berry tea in his bedroom, and fell into bed soon after, only mildly aware of Elim entering sometime around midnight and settling into his side of the bed. Sleep took him easily that night, as if some power had been sapped from him. When he awoke the next morning, the news had long since reached the radio broadcasts, and was the cover story in the newspaper.

Zurvek Maat was dead.


	14. Chapter 14

The news of Zurvek Maat's death rattled Julian. He had only spoken to the minister the day before, on Tain's orders - would this always be the outcome of Tain’s “favours”? Would he ever be able to say no without ending up like Zurvek Maat? He was terrified of his own potential complicity, and still conflicted over the confessions of his spouse and spouse’s paramour. Driven to seek air and space outside the Castellan's oppressive house, he decided to visit Ezri and Ziyal. Something about the small house full of art called out to Julian, and seemed to offer sanctuary to his conflicted, torn thoughts. He made a cursory stop by Sokoa’s small, neat office to let her know where he was headed, and organized a carriage. Not an hour later, he was standing at the vine-covered house once again, though this time he simply strode past the guards as if they weren’t there. 

When he knocked, it was Ezri who opened the door. “Julian… is everything alright? You look unwell,” She asked as she opened the door wider to lead him inside, concern coloring her voice.

“I… I wanted to talk to you. About some things,” he managed to stammer out.

“Ziyal is downstairs taking a bath, but she should up soon. Come on, I think we have some rokassa juice.” 

Ezri led Julian into the courtyard, which was not as small as it had seemed from the second floor balcony. It was done in a lovely mosaic of warm earth tones, sparse plants standing proudly among more traditional stone sculptures. In the center of it all was the pond, ringed with a few pink _meya_ lilies. Beside it, in an open space, stood a low round glass table ringed by a single bench and two chairs. After Julian spent a few minutes pacing nervously and making halting small talk, she rolled her eyes and forced him to sit down, making him promise to stay put until she returned with refreshments. 

Soon, a glass of pale orange _rokassa_ juice was placed in front of Julian. He eyed it somewhat suspiciously. 

“I know it smells a little odd, but I promise it’ll calm you down.” 

WIth great hesitation, he took a sip of the cool drink; it tasted a bit bitter but mostly watery, like a cucumber. Once he swallowed, he thought he sensed an aftertaste not unlike mint. Julian moved to put the glass down but Ezri had affixed him with a determined gaze, as if daring him to leave any unfinished. He frowned and drank the rest.

“There. Feel better now?”

“You know, oddly enough, I do. It’s the strangest thing…” he muttered, inspecting the empty glass. 

Ezri nodded her approval. “So what’s on your mind, Julian?”

He paused for a few moments to gather his thoughts. Where did he start? How he felt that he might've inadvertently killed Zurvek Maat? How Elim may have been complicit in many more deaths? How House Tain was a nest of angry hornets that hovered menacingly over everyone?

“I was wondering… how you feel about House Tain. You must know what Elim does, and what… what his father does. The spying, the assassinations… Being a Federation citizen, it must be hard to reconcile what you see here with the ideals you were brought up to uphold.”

Across the table, she sighed, as if she had been expecting this. “I won’t lie and say it’s been easy. Ziyal have certainly had our share of arguments about it over the years.”

“And?”

“And I don't like it. But what can I do? The Castellan would love an excuse to get rid of me and provide his heir with a more appropriate spouse.”

“There has to be _something_.” Julian pulled at his hair. “You heard of Maat's death - Tain sent me to see him before he died, as a favour. I can't help but feel… _complicit._ And as Elim's spouse - I feel like I should at least stop him, or mitigate the impact of his position-”

“Julian, this is not your fault.” Ezri lay a hand on Julian's arm. “You couldn't have known-”

“I _should_ have known. I should've realised _something_ -”

“No you shouldn't have. I know Elim - we're siblings-in-law, and if he treated you like he did me, he would've been trying his utmost to keep you out of it.”

“Well, he did _try._ ” Julian sagged, suddenly exhausted. “He tried, but he couldn't. The castellan made certain of that.” 

Ezri squeezed his arm. “Julian, he’d never admit this, but Elim is as much a victim of the Castellan’s machinations as Ziyal was - maybe even more so. He was molded by that man, raised to be an instrument of Enabran Tain’s rise to power. He's Tain's illegitimate son - one wrong move could see himself killed, or worse, someone he loves. Elim's life hinges on how useful he is to the Castellan. And I know that doesn’t excuse anything he’s done, but I think… I think he doesn’t see himself as having any other choice. It’s him, or the people he loves.” 

“That’s not… much of a choice,” Julian said bitterly. 

“No, it’s not. But for all the bad he’s done, I know that he is someone that Ziyal loves very much. He helped me get my work published, you know? So I’m… I guess what I’m trying to say is there’s no easy answer to this.” She laughed, a little nervously. “I'm sorry I can't give you a more clear cut answer.”

Julian let out a quiet groan and ran his hands over his face. “But it’s all… so _wrong_. We’re Federation, Ezri, we can’t just…. _Sit here_ while-”

“"The Federation was never perfect either! Gender variant folks are outcasts back home - my sister Jadzia gets harassed for her looks every _day._ " She hesitated. "And... I don't think I would be too wrong to suspect you know that personally."

“But it's not _slavery.”_

Ezri didn’t have anything to say to that. For a time, both of them were quiet, sitting together in sullen silence, not looking at each other. Then, finally, Ezri moved from the chair to sit beside Julian on the bench. He glanced down at her with interest, but she was instead looking at the pond. 

“You know, when we first came here, I was a total mess. I think I literally broke down crying the first night. I kept wondering if I had made a huge mistake. Everything was so… different, and I didn’t know anyone except Ziyal, you know?”

Julian nodded. Ezri smiled faintly and continued. “But, then I realized - maybe I’d always been a bit different. Always felt … different. Even when I’d go back to Trill on school breaks, I’d be surrounded by people who looked like me and talked like me but still there was something not quite there, you know? When I met Ziyal, it was like… we were both that odd piece that didn’t fit. But we fit together.”

She bent down to pick up a fallen leaf from the ground, and twirled it in her fingers absently. “The thing is, Ziyal always said that Cardassia is afraid of difference. They’d rather everyone be more or less the same, only varying within a narrow parameter of what it means to be, you know, ‘a good Cardassian.’ And being a good Cardassian means thinking you’re better than everyone who is different from you. But I know that at least here, in our little corner, that’s never been the case. If only they could see that…” At this, Ezri let the leaf fall again, just as Ziyal stepped into the courtyard, wearing a gold tea-dress, a towel artfully wrapped around her wet hair. 

“Seems like I missed all the fun,” She said, walking over and pressing a kiss to Ezri’s forehead. “What are we talking about?”

“Your brother, mostly.” 

“ _Rasuset_ is a giant idiot, don’t listen to anything he says. Are you staying for lunch, Julian? Unless my nose deceives me, I believe our cook is in the process of making _hasperat.._.”

BREAK

When Julian returned by carriage, he saw Kelas out in the grounds, tending to their herb gardens. As the carriage rolled to the stop, Kelas looked up, and gave him a wave, but even from a distance Julian could tell their smile was slightly nervous. With what he hoped was a warm smile, Julian jogged over to them.

“Kelas,” he murmured, laying one hand on Kelas’ elbow. “Can we talk?”

“Of course.” Kelas patted the soil of their herb beds, before straightening up and picking up their walking stick. Julian lead the way, through the front doors and straight out to the veranda out back. Sokoa was playing _korta_ with a Bajoran member of staff - servant or slave, Julian wasn’t certain - but she raised a hand in greeting, which Julian returned. He led Kelas to a bench underneath something similar to a mesquite tree, which gave them ample shade from the midday sun.

“I… I spoke with Ziyal and Ezri,” Julian murmured, after a few moments of watching The Bajoran player leap onto the ball and score. “About the House.”

“Mmm.” Kelas was watching him carefully. “And what did you discover?”

“I know that you didn’t have a choice in coming here.” Julian paused. “Kelas, I’m-”

“There’s no need to apologize.” Kelas smiled a little at him. “I’ve asked myself the same questions you have. Why I heal those who harm others. Why I don’t leave.”

“I understand your reasons. I just… have a question.”

“What is it?”

“I… I want to know how you can have a relationship with Elim, knowing what he’s done.”

To Julian’s surprise, Kelas laughed. “Out of everything, you have to ask the most difficult question.”

Julian didn’t reply, but shifted his body language to project an openness for talk. Kelas looked out at the horizon, silent for a while, before speaking once more.

“It’s... difficult to explain.” Kelas did not look away from the horizon. “And difficult to understand. I mean, I’m well aware that I love a man who not only has the power to kill me, but also supports a system that enslaves millions. And kills and tortures people to keep it running.”

“I guess you understand my conflict.”

“Mmm. Elim cares and tries to look after both you and I, but then he turns around and does… _that_.” Kelas indicated the Bajoran _korta_ player. “Supports slavery. Tortures. Assassinates. He is at least partially responsible for the atrocities that have happened in the Bajoran Crisis, as well as for causing it.”

“Then how do you forgive him?”

“It’s not a forgiveness story you need - because forgiving him for what has happened isn’t something we can do. We’re not the victims here.”

“So what? I accept it?”

“You accept the circumstances we’re all in.” Kelas looked at him, a certain intensity in their brown eyes. “He is a bastard child, in a family which only has one legal heir. Tell me - what do you think would happen if Elim refused to be an operative?” 

“I… don’t know. I’d never thought of it. Perhaps exile?”

Kelas smiled sadly. “He’d be killed, Julian.”

“Killed?” Julian felt his stomach tighten. “But his father-”

“Is abusive, and sees him as a tool rather than a son. The Castellan groomed Elim to follow in the family business, so to speak. But as an illegitimate child, Elim would be hunted down and killed as soon as he ceased to be… useful. You and I would also be targets, as would anyone else Elim cares about. In a way, Elim being there is what protects us from his father.”

“At the expense of millions of Bajorans!”

“Those millions of Bajorans would still be enslaved even if Elim left. Tain is desperate to keep a hold of them, and a runaway bastard child wouldn’t change that.”

Julian frowned, still unhappy. “He couldn’t live like Ziyal and Ezri?”

Kelas shook their head. “Ziyal is in the unique position of being able to defy her father, since she is the only legitimate heir. Killing Ziyal would immediately make House Tain an heirless dynasty, and therefore a worthless dynasty.”

“I… but _slavery_. Torture. Assassinations. Even knowing what pressures Elim is under, how do you accept that he has the capacity and _does_ do that?”

“I don’t. I know what he has done, and what he will probably do. But you haven’t known him as long as I have - I _know_ he has changed, since meeting me. Since _us_.”

“You can’t love fascism out of someone,” Julian remarked quietly, “You know that.” 

“I know.” Kelas seemed to wilt a little. “Elim is… _complacent_ in the fascist system. But I know he has changed from what he’s learnt from me. Still he _stays_ , but he does not do all that he might have done.” 

“He thinks it’s necessary, so he doesn’t leave.”

“Mmm. He feels he is what stands between the ones he loves and the ones down below, and his father. And it's true, he does - between the Castellan and his son, I know who I’d prefer to be interrogated by.”

“We shouldn’t be at risk of being interrogated by him at _all_.” Julian kicked a loose stone, and its echo bounced down across the veranda. Kelas watched it go, with a slightly mournful expression. 

“What do you think, Julian?” Kelas asked suddenly. “Do you think Elim will renounce the system any time soon?” 

“I’d… like to think so.” Julian paused to gather his thoughts. “I think he will. But something’s got to happen - something that makes him choose between revolution and fascism. Us or his father.” 

“Something's got to give.” Kelas smiled, and then corrected themselves. “Something’s _going_ to give. And I want to be there for him when it does.”

“You love him.” It wasn’t a question, and Kelas eyed him before nodding slowly.

“I do. I know what he has done. I know why he does it. And still I love him. I have seen him change, and I can only hope that someday he’ll give it up. I think that’s the best I can offer to you.”

Julian sighed, but did not reply.


	15. Chapter 15

Elim knew that soon enough, Julian and he would need to talk about his profession. He had taken to spending his evenings in the solarium, both to spend quality time with Kelas, and to provide Julian with ample opportunity to approach him in a neutral environment. That evening, four days after the incident with Pythas, Elim was curled together with Kelas in a basket chair, a _kotra_ set arranged in front of them. Numerous candles had been lit in and around the the solarium to ward off the night, and it was by that light Elim saw Julian enter, for the first time since that fateful night. Kelas looked up as he entered, and smiled in greeting. 

“Julian! Come here, I need your help- Elim is absolutely _thrashing_ me at _kotra-”_

“Someday you'll be able to beat me.” Elim laughed. “But you're not doing so well today.”

“I'll do better once Julian joins me - what do you think, Julian? I haven't the head for strategy...” 

Julian laughed, and joined Kelas’ side, but as they played, Elim could tell his mind was on other things. As the evening wore on, Elim played carefully and secured a comfortable victory, much to the disappointment of his opponents. They made small talk for a little while afterwards, but Kelas, ever the empath, took their leave soon afterwards, claiming to want to make use of the servant hours in the bath. They pressed a kiss to his lips, a hand to Julian's shoulder, and then parted their company, leaving him and Julian alone. 

“I guess we should talk.” Julian murmured, a few moments after Kelas left. “About… you.”

“Me.” Elim settled back into the basket chair. “And what I do.” 

“Mmm.” 

Elim was quiet for a moment. “I cannot offer any apologies. Nor ask for any forgiveness.”

“I know.” 

“What I do… is not good. It is duty. And I accept that my duty harms many people.”

“I know that too.”

“And yet, I see you haven't taken any steps to leave Cardassia, or leave me.” 

“No,” Julian paused. “I understand what you do, and why you do it. I don't like it - it's foul, horrific work - but I do understand why you do it.” 

“But this not _your_ work. This is not your fight. If you wish to return home-” 

“No,” Julian's voice was sharper now. “Nothing waits for me there.”

“Then what will you do?” 

“I'll stay. Cardassia is changing. Kelas tells me you're changing, too.“

“I still must do my duty. And you know what that involves.”

“I do. But I think… I think one day, your father won't hold as much power over you. This regime will change, and so will you.“

“Ever the optimist.” 

“Guilty as charged.” 

Elim couldn't quite understand how Julian could see glimmers of hope in what was a quite dark situation, but he did not protest it. He’d had quite enough fights with Kelas over the matter to know that optimism could not be crushed with his own pessimism. Elim knew his father wielded power with an iron fist - despite the rumbles of rebellion and protest, he would not be dislodged so easily. 

“There was also something else I wanted to ask you.” Elim looked at him, and noticed the anxiety creeping in on his spouse. He reached out, and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

“Ask away.”

Julian took a deep breath, and exhaled. “Elim, I… I saw Zurvek Maat, on the day he died. The Castellan asked me to see him.”

Elim inhaled sharply, suddenly concerned. “Julian…” 

“He was alive when I left, but I… I _have_ to know, Elim - did I kill him? Was I sent there to ensure his death?” Julian paused for a moment. “Elim, you have to have known _something._ ”

“I…” Julian was right - Maat's planned demise was not news to Elim, but Elim had _no_ idea that _Julian_ was going to be involved... “Yes and no.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I… wasn't told where you were going. I didn't know my father had sent you to Maat, and I didn't know what he had you do whilst you were there.” A shadow passed across his face. “But I won't deny it - I knew Zurvek Maat was going to die.”

Julian let his head fall into his hands. “Then it _is_ my fault he's dead.” 

“No- Julian-” Elim took his hands away from his face, guilt and empathy twisting his guts. “Julian, you are not to blame. You are not a murderer - not like I am.”

“But Maat-” 

“Maat would've died with or without your involvement.” Elim squeezed his hands. “Julian, I don't know why my father sent you there today, but believe me, Maat's death has been in the making for several months. It is _not_ your fault. You had no way of knowing.”

Julian was quiet for a moment, before he quietly withdrew his hands. Elim felt the loss keenly. 

“Why did he need to die, Elim?” he asked. “I… just _can't_ understand what is going on. Why would a _transport_ minister need to die?”

“Because he wouldn't bend to my father's will.” 

“Your father's will only involved a train line for _wine_. That's hardly worth killing over.” 

Elim rolled his head back, trying to piece together what he could say. “Do you remember what brand of wine would be delivered on the line?” 

“ _Bacharat_. It was the brand of the bottle he sent with me. It's new but… popular, apparently.”

“The wine company is only a few months old - but wine is not the only thing it sells. The wine is a… front, if you will. A shell, for my father's Order.”

Understanding dawned on Julian's face. “The train line would've gone direct from Ki Baratan to Kardasi'or, bypassing the inspection point at Dartha. The company could've shipped anything through there, unseen - but Maat wouldn't approve it.”

“Maat was cleverer than my father thought - and that is why he had to die.” Elim felt his face pull into an ugly grimace. “With his death, the Order can put a more sympathetic person in the ministry - one who will approve the plan. With the right kind of pressures, the rail line could be up and running within a few months.”

“And could be used to transport anything.” Julian added. “Slaves, operatives…” 

“Mmm. Weapons too - the Bajoran Crisis is forefront on my father's mind. The slaves have already developed methods to protect themselves from Cardassian weapons - they haven't got the capacity yet to protect themselves from Romulan ones.” 

“That's _foul_. Absolutely _foul.”_

“My father wants the Crisis finished - any way, any how.” Elim paused for a moment. “He knows the movement is getting stronger. He fears even those closest to him will defect.” 

“Even you?” 

“He feels my enjoinment to you might make you able to… _sway_ me.” 

Julian snorted. “Well, you know I sympathize already.”

“I do. Are you planning to sway me to your side?”

“Are you not already on our side?” 

“What do you think?” 

Julian thought for a moment. “I think… that you openly crossing the Castellan will put an awful lot of people in danger.”

“Correct.”

“But… I trust Kelas, and he says you've changed. To some extent, I trust you to - I think you'll help where you can.”

Elim had not expected the admission of trust, and he felt a little touched. “Trusting a spy is not one of your better ideas,” he murmured. “But perhaps there is a way for you to help…” 

“How?” 

Elim looked down at the defeated _kotra_ board, and thought for a few moments. If Elim was going to let him get involved, then he needed to make certain certain powers did not find out… 

“Next week,” Elim murmured. “Kelas will go out searching for moonblossoms.”

“Moonblossoms?” Julian frowned, slightly lost. 

“Mmm. I'll organize for you to accompany them. I'll think you'll find the trip… somewhat enlightening.”

Julian now looked even more lost. “I really wish you didn't speak in code.” 

“But where would the fun be in that?” Elim patted Julian's knee, and began to pack away the _kotra_ set. “Two nights away. Don't forget Julian.” 

Julian sighed. “Alright, I won't.” 

BREAK

When Kelas and Julian set out at sunset the next week, Julian was slightly confused that they were not, in fact, heading towards the river, where those flowers grew. They walked toward the city for what felt like a long time, but skirted its edge rather than going deeper into the districts. Finally, they came to what looked like a large barn. 

“Kelas, what-” Julian began. 

“Patience, Julian. You’ll see.” 

They circled the building until they found a side access door, away from the large loading doors in the front and the circle of light cast by the street lamp. Once there, they raised their cane and rapped out a rhythm on the door. Some seconds later, a similar, complementary rhythm came from the other side, and the door opened. 

Her face was half-hidden in shadow, but Julian recognized her immediately - the red-haired Bajoran woman from the protest, on his first day out in the city. He stepped forward, and was about to say something when she jerked her head in his direction. “Mind telling me who that is, doctor?” 

“A recent addition to our household. I said he'd be coming last week, Kira.” Kelas said simply, walking past her to get inside. Julian was about to follow them, only to find his way barred as the woman stood firmly in the middle of the doorframe. She was a good few inches shorter than him, but her presence was commanding. Close up, Julian could see the scars that littered most of her skin, and the ridges of her nose that deepened with her frown. 

“I know you,” she said, peering into his face. “You’re Julian Bashir. Elim Garak’s new spouse.” 

“Y-yes?”

“You’re Federation too. Human.”

“Yes.”

“Part of the elite, I'm guessing.”

“Well, uh, my mother has a seat in parliament.” He had not expected his origins to be questioned, and therefore did not prepare a compelling argument justifying his presence at this… event? Whatever it was. He still wasn’t sure. His answers clearly didn't please the Bajoran, whose mouth hardened into a thin line. 

“Where was your government - your _mother_ \- when my people were being rounded up like chattel? Where was The Federation when-” she hissed, her voice full of barely-contained anger. 

“Nerys, come on. If he wants to help, let him help,” a voice said, and a taller woman came into view. She took Kira by the shoulders and steered her away. 

“Hmph. You know I’m right.” Nerys spat before walking away into the building. 

“I apologize for my wife,” the tall woman said, in Bajor-accented Standard. “I’m Ro. Please, come inside.” 

A little unnerved by that encounter, Julian hurried inside. The building smelled strongly of riding hounds, but was empty save for some scattered hay and discarded farm equipment. People stood talking in small groups, primarily Bajorans, but there were a few Cardassians as well. Julian scanned the room, trying to find Kelas, the one source of relative familiarity in all this confusion. 

He finally found them, standing a little apart from the main group. They were speaking to a pair of Cardassians, possibly a father and son? There seemed to be some family resemblance at least; regardless, Julian quickly shuffled over and all but clung to the doctor’s side. Kelas’ discussion partners immediately noticed his presence. 

“Ah! The newest addition to our motley crew,” one said, bowing a little in greeting. “My name is Kotan Pa’dar - of House Pa’dar. A minor House to be sure, but-”

“Father, few people here care about that,” the other sighed. “I'm Rugal.”

Kotan and Rugal looked eerily similar to each other, at least to Julian's eyes. Their scales were the same shade of light ash grey, and their height was the same too. The only difference was in the face - Kotan had bright blue eyes, and was wizened at the temples, while Rugal had brown eyes, and a longer chin. 

“It's good to meet you.” Julian bowed in return. “Though I'm afraid I have no knowledge of where I am - Kelas neglected to tell me.” 

Kotan laughed. “Kelas occasionally forgets themself, and forgets not everyone can follow their thoughts and ideas.”

“Sometimes I try to make certain you can keep up,” Kelas huffed, but they turned to Julian like a patient teacher. “My apologies, Julian. This is just one of the dissident cells operating in Cardassia.”

“Dissident?” Now things were starting to slide into place. “You mean the slave rebellion.” 

“Mmm. The women you saw before - those are Kira Nerys, and her wife Ro Laren. They're escaped slaves, and now freedom fighters, fighting to end slavery. Just like all of us here.”

Suddenly, there was a quiet thump - Kira climbed on top of an overturned bucket, ready to address the gathered group. 

“Welcome, all." Julian was certain if she had said 'Welcome, enemies of the state,’ it would've been said in exactly the same tone of voice. "My apologies for our current hideaway - it seems the gendarmerie smoked us out of our usual spots..."

As if to punctuate, the young Cardassian man Kelas had been talking to sneezed loudly, and several in attendance laughed. Kotan offered his son a handkerchief, which was gratefully received. 

“ Of course, if anyone would like to out themselves as the bastard who leaked our location, I'd appreciate it greatly…”

The room murmured, but no-one stepped forth. Julian could see Ro at the back, eyeing the crowd. After a few moments of restless quiet, Kira nodded. 

“Alright then - to business. We've had reports from North Torr…”


	16. Chapter 16

The stars blinked bright through the dusty smog as Kelas and Julian made their way through the town back towards the compound, taking what were clearly the back roads. The streets were nearly silent - the riding hounds had long been put to bed, and folks seemed to be nearing their own bedtime given the quietness. Occasionally, as they passed by some houses, Julian would hear glimpses of sound - a child crying, someone singing, the crackle of the radio as it announced another soft-spoken singer, the clatter of pans in a kitchen. Just for a moment he imagined that it was his mother in those houses, along with a clatter of servants, preparing the evening meal before sundown. Then he shook his head, and reminded himself rather forcefully that this was Cardassia, and they were probably slaves. His head still buzzed from the meeting, filled with plans and ideas and despair and hope about the situation. 

“You seem to know your way around here,” Julian wondered aloud to Kelas, as they ducked into a small side alley. “Did you grow up around here?”

To his surprise, Kelas laughed. “Fates, no.” they replied, shaking their head. “I went to university here, but grew up far, _far_ away.”

“Outside Cardassia?”

“Nearly. I grew up on the peninsula, Indar.”

Julian tried to remember the atlas of Cardassia he’d read before coming here. “Off to the south-west? The bit with the landbridge?”

“That’s the one.”

“Was it nice there?”

“It was _home_.” Kelas sighed, and indicated they should turn down the street. “It wasn’t necessarily nice - the ash storms were terrible, and it was _full_ of cliffs and hills - but it was _home_. My home. It was where I could speak my tongue without reprimand, where we worshipped our deities freely...”

Julian watched as Kelas drew slowly to a stop, and pressed a hand to the sandstone building beside them. Gently, Julian placed his hand on Kelas’ elbow.

“You miss it,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. “I know I came here to escape home, but I miss it too, sometimes.”

“Mmm.” Kelas looked upwards at the stars. “I left Indar when I was thirteen. Sometimes, I look at the stars, and they look the same as back home, and it helps.”

“You came here then?” 

“Yes. Mother got work here, and moved my brother and I across the continent to be here, while my father stayed in Indar. My brother and I only spoke basic Kardasi when we came, but we learnt. Mother didn’t speak a lick of it, but then again she didn’t need to.”

“Not for her work?”

“No. She was a servant, to one of the lesser houses that don’t have rights to own slaves. The less she spoke, the better.”

Kelas suddenly started walking again, and Julian hurried to catch up. They turned into a wider, well-lit street, not far from the estate, and Kelas pointed up at one of the houses on the side of the street. 

“I lived there when I went to university. Worked as a live-in carer for an older lady until she died, then rented the room from her son.”

“That must have been difficult.”

“It was.” For a moment, a shadow seemed to pass over their face, before it cleared. “It’s old news now. You met the lady’s son and grandson - Kotan and Rugal?”

“Oh!” Julian remembered the young man, and the older man with him, who seemed quite done with his son’s outspokenness. “They were nice.”

“They were. At least, nice compared to others who wouldn’t look twice at Cheðaite _sark._ ” 

The bitterness of Kelas’ voice as they spat out the last word surprised Julian. “They don’t treat you... kindly?”

“They didn’t then. The children of a service-class Cheðaite were prime targets for abuse. Mäūë - my brother - went back with to Indar with my mother as soon as he had the money to support her. I stayed here.”

“Why?”

“Because I met Elim.” Kelas smiled a little. “I wasn’t in love then. But he was. He broke into my house, then forgot why he was there the moment he saw me.”

“That’s both sweet and creepy.”

“It was mostly creepy. He offered me a job working with House Tain. I knew better than to refuse, but I fought him on it. And then, he kept coming back to me - kept faking injuries to see me at work.”

“And you fell for him for that?”

“Not then. It took him five years to convince me to say yes. We fought all the time before then - over his work, his beliefs, his actions, and I kicked him out on his arse every time he tried to suggest that I was the ‘one good dissident’.”

“Ouch.”

“He deserved it. But even then, I knew he’d keep me safe from his father. And when he… softened, when he came to believe in my arguments, when he started to work change into the system, I finally fell in love.”

They turned a corner at the end of the street, and Julian found himself looking down the drive of the Tain Estate.

“Home, sweet home,” Julian murmured, and he swore Kelas stifled a snort. The gates opened at their touch, and the two of them hurried down the drive, side by side, the sandstone path crunching beneath their feet.

“Julian,” Kelas said, as they approached one of the smaller front doors. “Remember, you _can’t_ mention anything you heard tonight to _anyone_ beside Elim and I, and not in front of others. Don’t even mention where you went.”

“Of course,” Julian nodded, and pushed open the doors. “What’s our cover story again?”

“We went looking for moonblossoms, out in the fields near the river.” Kelas laid one hand on Julian’s arm. “You understand, right? Not a _word_ about tonight. Nothing.”

“Nothing, or we get executed. Got it.”

“There are worse punishments we could face.” Kelas bowed his head - a parting. “But I trust you. _Lūma-alūäëä_ , Julian.”

“Goodnight, Kelas.”

BREAK

_Today was just not going well for Kelas. First, security had spent an hour trying to stop him accessing the hospital, despite having ID and very much needing to attend their rounds. Then, following twelve very drab hours on the ward, Kelas had found that the tramline had been cancelled early on account of the rain, and he had to walk the half-hour home in the wet and the cold. And now, dead tired and wanting nothing more than to sleep, they had walked into their poky little flat to find a spook sat very comfortably on the edge of their bed, window wide open beside him._

_“You know,” Kelas remarked, once they got over the initial shock of seeing the man. “You're bound to get a much better reception if you_ don't _break into people's houses. The front door is perfectly functional.”_

_“Who says I didn't come through the front door?” the man countered. Kelas looked pointedly at the open window beside him._

_“You're telling me you broke in through my front door, then fancied opening the window on the wettest day of the year?”_

_The man's eyes twinkled with good humour, but he did not reply, and Kelas supposed they wouldn't get an answer. They sighed, and sat down at their desk._

_“What have I done this time?” they asked, slightly scornful. “Don't tell me, is offering free medical care is now a felony? Perhaps distributing shed scale care packages now comes with a fine-”_

_“Your extracurriculars are perfectly legal, no need to worry.” Was that a smile on the man's face? “I, ah, come here on different orders.”_

_“Oh, good. Have you come to take me away to your secret clubhouse?” Kelas began unpacking his case with some anger. “I hear it's very romantic.”_

_“You're not afraid of me at all, are you?” Kelas could not tell if the man was mocking him or not. He slammed his cauterizer into its case, flinching just a little when it sparked._

_“After the first few times of being approached by your, ah, colleagues,” they murmured, “You tend to be much less scary.”_

_“You have frequent run-ins with the law?”_

_“I'm a Cheðaite, working in a wealthy part of town - the neighbours haven't yet stopped calling the police whenever I go to work.”_

_The man inclined his head. “I see. Well, I come on behalf of Castellan Tain.”_

_The_ Castellan Tain? _Kelas shuddered a little. Everyone knew of the Castellan, and everyone knew not to draw his attention unless you had a death wish. What had_ they _done to attract his attention?_

_“Is there something he needs?” Kelas asked, carefully hiding their trepidation._

_“He's in requirement of a new doctor. The last one became… unsuitable.”_

_They were killed, he meant. “And he wants to hire me? A newly-graduated Cheðaite_ _doctor? I'm not even specialized.”_

_The man smiled. “You came highly recommended. We have been watching you for some time.”_

_If that was supposed to reassure him, it certainly didn't. Kelas was now wholly aware that he was being pushed into accepting this role, and that perhaps he did not have much choice._

_“Who recommended me?” Kelas asked. “I can't see anyone recommending a Cheðaite over someone Central.”_

_The man's smile turned into a shark-like grin. “I did.”_

_“You barely know me.”_

_“I've seen you work, and I've seen you do your extracurricular clinics. You're reliable, discreet, unassuming - and as we see now, you possess the unique ability to not be intimidated by us.”_

_“Stalking_ isn't _flattering.” Kelas sighed, and rubbed his face. “And I don't even know if what you say is true - if the Castellan actually wants_ me _. I don't even know who you are.”_

_The man blinked, and his face softened into a predatory smile. He pulled out a short, folded letter from his breast pocket._

_“My name is Elim Garak,” he smiled. “And believe me, the Order is very eager to make your... acquaintance.”_

For a few moments, as Kelas awoke, they were convinced they were back in their poky little flat in Paldar sector, asleep in their itchy, lumpy bed. But the mattress they lay on was smoother and larger than the one they used to have, and as the remnants of the dream faded, Kelas came to be aware that they were back in House Tain, in their own bed, with someone cuddled firmly against their back. Who else was in their bed? Kelas tried to shake the fuzziness from their mind, tried to remember… 

There was a snore, and Elim tried to snuggle closer. Kelas laughed, patting his arm. _That’s_ who it was. Elim had waited up for their return, and Julian had suggested Elim stayed with Kelas for the night - with the Castellan out, it would be one of few opportunities they’d have to be together. Kelas shifted, feeling the residual ache between their thighs, and smiled. Tonight was a good night, and they were thankful Julian had had the foresight to see that. 

They settled back into the bed with a sigh. This was perhaps not the way Kelas had expected this enjoinment to go. Kelas had expected grief, sadness, anger - and there had been some of that, but also they had not expected to have Elim back, and he certainly hadn't expected to find a friend in Julian. Julian was… unique, or rather unique to Kelas and Cardassia in general. He showed no prejudice towards them for clearly coming from a different background - a first for Kelas, and certainly different to the rest of Cardassia. And there was no doubting that their new friend was _attractive_ too… 

Kelas snorted despite themself. Here they were, with Elim, whom he loved, with an eye on Elim's enjoined-by-convenience! Kelas would, of course, not cheat on Elim, but there was no harm in recognizing a good looking man when one came walking by. Kelas knew Elim recognized the attractiveness of their enjoined too, or he would not have taken such an interest in Julian's Cardassian education. Elim and Kelas would be happy together irregardless of Julian's good looks, but if they ever considered opening their partnership to someone… 

Kelas rolled over, and tucked the duvet tightly around both themself and Elim. They should keep an eye on this friendship, they thought. There may be something there that wasn't there before. 


	17. Chapter 17

A few days after Julian’s trip to Lakat, Enabran Tain took him aside after dinner. The Castellan took most meals in his office, however on occasion he deigned to descend and dine with his son and the senior members of the staff. 

“Tragic news, isn’t it, about our mutual friend from the ministry?” he began, inspecting a painting as if trying to ensure it wasn’t crooked. Tain had the odd habit of not looking at Julian when he spoke to him, as if his gaze was a skill he wanted to use sparingly. 

“Yes, I… I was quite shaken,” Julian admitted.

“The fates are fickle things, but I do feel partly responsible, for… exposing you to such things,” Tain said, and here he turned to face Julian. Tain’s eyes were not quite so bright a shade of blue as Elim’s, but nonetheless there was something probing about them, they commanded the same kind of attention. 

“It’s…. It’s fine. Just an unfortunate circumstance, I suppose,” Julian said, trying his best to hold his own in whatever battle of wits this was supposed to be.

“I understand if you were hesitant to help me in the future, but as you know, I’m not as young as I once was. Sokoa does a fine job, of course, but she cannot be everywhere, and Elim has his own tasks to attend to…” Tain mused, his tone matter-of-fact. 

Julian looked across the room, where Elim was discussing something with the seneschal. “I’d… I’d love to help,” he said, feeling once again like he had very little choice in the matter. 

Over the next several weeks, Julian performed several more favors for Enabran Tain, though thankfully none of these ended up in anyone dying… at least, not that he knew of. Mostly they were small errands, and part of him wondered if there wasn’t someone better suited to doing this. Sure, he usually relied on his sorcery to accomplish them, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was some larger plan to all of these errands, some bigger picture he continued to not be aware of. But still, in the coming weeks he easily fell into some kind of balance of favours, lessons from Kelas, dissident meetings, time with Elim, and time with his new friendships among the serving class of house Tain. 

As much as he felt like his talents were being squandered, he did appreciate the opportunity to leave the estate. The bustling streets of Kardasi’or always were a welcome reprieve from the stifling atmosphere the Castellan seemed to enjoy maintaining at his home. Discovering the _gelat_ houses was a highlight for Julian; often he would ask the carriage driver to come back in a few hours so he could sit with a hot cup of the bitter brew and simply listen to the ambient conversation all around him. Occasionally he’d invite Ezri out with him if she wasn’t busy working on her novel, and generally they had an excellent time of it. Enough so that he had nearly let himself forget about Zurvek Maat.

What he could not make himself forget was that he had given his Enjoined permission to be with another. He didn’t regret it, of course - it was, to him, the best way to ensure happiness for the greatest number of people. And Julian liked making people happy. But then why was it that every time he watched Elim and Kelas together in the gardens or in the reading room, it felt as if a dagger sank deeper and deeper into his heart? Was this simply the loneliness inherent in their charade of a marriage, or was he perhaps… letting himself fall for one of them? Elim was dashing and cultured, but Kelas had a certain natural confidence that Julian found irresistible in his partners. 

He didn’t want to have to choose. Not that he felt like he had a chance with either of them. They had years of history together, _decades_ possibly. What could Julian offer that they didn’t already have? 

These thoughts brooded on his mind as he returned from yet another ‘favour.’ This one had been a little more difficult than most, and required him to be out in the sun for most of the day, waiting for a ‘friend’ of the Castellan. As a result, he was hot, sweaty and slightly burnt, and all he wanted was a nice soothing bath to wash away the dirt. As the carriage he was in pulled up to the Tain house forecourt, Julian spotted Sokoa making her way across the grounds towards him. 

“Mister Bashir,” Sokoa greeted, as Julian clambered out of the carriage. “A good journey, I trust?”

“I'd say hot rather than good, but nothing untoward happened at least.” Julian looked Sokoa up and down, noting that she wasn't in her usual uniform. “Out playing _korta_ again?”

Sokoa laughed. “I play with my wife during our meal breaks. Have you met my wife?”

“I don't think so, no.” Sokoa called something out, in a language Julian only just recognized as Lowland Bajoran. Across the grounds, a spritely woman walked across the grass towards then - Bajoran, with dark skin like his own and almond shaped eyes. She wasn’t tall, but short and plump, and her mouth easily found a smile when she came to stop in front of Julian. 

“This is Naprem,” she said. “My wife, and _korta_ opponent.” 

“Sir,” Naprem said, with a slight bow. “It's good to see you well.”

Julian smiled in response. “Sokoa wanted to introduce her wife to me. I hope you're a better _korta_ player than I am.”

“I've rarely been able to beat her,” Sokoa said and Naprem blushed. 

“I'm certain Sokoa has taught you well,” she murmured. “Perhaps we could play sometime?” 

“I'd like that,” Julian nodded, and grinned, “Well, I'd better not distract you from your duty. I know what the Castellan can be like.” 

At the mention of the Castellan, Naprem’s smile seemed to dim, but she still bowed, and went back across the grounds. Julian watched her go, feeling the grin slip from his own face. 

“She's a slave, isn't she?” Julian asked, and he heard Sokoa sigh beside him. 

“Yes,” she replied. “She's part of the slave group that tends the grounds here. Before this though, she used to be a lecturer, at a University in Bajor.”

“Lecturing in what?” 

“Political history and legal studies.” 

Julian laughed. “I can see why Cardassia wanted her a slave rather than a lecturer. Have you been enjoined long?”

“Three years, in the Bajoran way - I met her when she came here to work.”

“The Bajoran way?” 

“Oh, excuse me - we're enjoined by Bajoran customs. Cardassia doesn't recognize nor allow unions that involve slaves.” She brightened a little. “But her sentence ends in two weeks, and then we can be enjoined the Cardassian way too.”

“That's good,” Julian smiled. “Be sure to invite me to the wedding!”

“Of course.” Sokoa smiled back, and checked her watch. “I have twenty minutes before my break ends - I don't suppose I can tempt you for a quick game?” 

“Not today, unfortunately. I've been out in the sun too long - I'm fairly sure I'm burnt. And I need to speak with the Castellan too.”

“The Castellan isn't available at the moment, so you'll need to wait for him. But Doctor Parmak should be able to take a look at any burns - they're in the solarium, with Mister Garak I think.”

Julian nodded, and moved across the grounds into the solarium. The solarium had become a kind of safe space for Kelas, Elim and himself - often, they would all congregate there to escape the oppressive weight of House Tain and its patriarch. In the midday light, the solarium was hot and filled with the sweet scent of the plants that grew in there. Several broad-leaved plants grew up the walls and fanned out far above his head, causing the sunlight to fall dappled on the sunning rocks and basket chairs set in the middle. On entering, Julian immediately spotted Kelas on one of the sunning rocks, stripped down to their slip, fast asleep in the sunlight. Elim was in one of the basket chairs, dressed and eyes shut, but he opened them and smiled as Julian approached. 

“Your business in town is concluded, I hope?” Elim asked, as Julian settled into a chair nearby. 

“Mmm. Took a while, but delivered what your father wanted.” 

Elim huffed a little. Ever since Julian had started doing these ‘favours’ for the Castellan, Elim had shown his disapproval of his father even asking Julian to be involved. Julian knew Elim did not trust his father, and suspected something sinister, but it wasn't as if Julian had much of a choice. They were both in the same boat. 

“How's Kelas doing?” Julian asked. “It's their day off, right?” 

“Mmm.” Elim smile found its way back to his face. “Kelas seems to be planning to sleep for most of it, however.” 

“I'm an old man,” came a sleepy voice. “I can sleep whenever I like.” 

Julian watched as Kelas rolled over to face them, and his heart fluttered at the adorably sleepy expression on their face. Elim was similarly affected, and he pushed himself out of his chair and approach them, with Julian following. 

“My dear,” Elim murmured, pressing a kiss to their _chufa,_ “You're only forty-six.” 

“I _feel_ older,” Kelas griped. “This place'll be the death of me.”

Kelas had said it in a joking manner, but everyone in the room could feel the seriousness behind the words. Elim pressed another kiss to their forehead, and curled them close. Julian also had the mad desire to kiss Kelas and cuddle them both close, but he restrained himself, and stuffed the tendril of jealousy into the back corner of his mind. Instead, he approached the two, and placed a hand on Elim's back and Kelas’ hip, the closest he allowed himself to be to them. Both seemed to appreciate it - Elim gave him a smile, and Kelas patted his hand. 

“You're unusually warm, Julian” Kelas murmured. “And off-colour too. Are you feeling alright?” 

“I think I caught the sun a bit,” Julian looked at his skin, red and warm. “I was out in the sun all through lunch-” 

“And you walked straight into a room that concentrates light?” Kelas straightened up, shaking their head. “To see us? Honestly, we're not worth your _wellbeing_ -” 

_Yes you are,_ Julian thought, but he didn't voice the thought. Kelas moved their undercoat aside to reveal their tail, strapped with all kinds of herbs and leaves. They removed a few spiky leaves from near the base, and with a murmur of magicka, extracted a sticky sap from them. 

“Elim,” Kelas murmured. “Take this, and put it on his hands and arms. Julian, sit here, let me do your neck…”

Julian settled on the edge of the sunning rock, but jumped when Kelas arranged themselves so that their legs were either side of him. Elim came to his front and took his hands, effectively sandwiching him between the both of them. Their warm scents, combined with the warmth of the room, did nothing to cool Julian's attraction to the both of them, and Julian was glad the redness of the burn hid most of his flush. Cool, slick hands touched his neck, and he unintentionally arched into them, trying and failing to stifle a moan. He heard both Elim and Kelas laughed, and he looked aside in embarrassment, but the two Cardassians didn't stop their ministrations. Kelas massaged the sap into the burn with the confidence of someone who had done this many times before, but Elim was a little more hesitant, a little more cautious, a little more afraid of hurting him. The impromptu massage was also causing several warmer emotions to arise in Julian, and he prayed his growing arousal wasn't obvious enough for the other two to notice. 

“You'll need to go inside afterwards, hmm?” Kelas remarked, as their fingers made their way up his neck to his face. “Turn towards me, I don't want to get anything in your eye-” 

“I wanted to take a bath,” Julian turned his head to allow Kelas access. “Can I take bath with this?” 

“Let it dry first, then you can.” Kelas paused a moment, focusing on getting the sap worked into his forehead. “Elim can join you - it'll stop him from bothering me.”

“I thought you liked my kind of bothering.” Elim replied airily, massaging Julian's palms. 

“I do, but it'll do you good to see other faces.”

“I'll need to finish reading these reports first, but I can join you later.” Elim gave him a genuine smile, a smile that did treacherous things to Julian's insides. “How does that sound, Julian? Perhaps you'll even bathe properly, without that bathing suit of yours.” 

Julian's groin was very interested in being naked in a bath with either one of the Cardassians, but he shook his head. “I'll keep my clothes on, thank you.” 

Elim gave an over dramatic sigh, and Julian heard Kelas snigger behind him. “Fine,” he said. “Kelas, will you inspect my handiwork? I'd like to make certain I've done this correctly…” 


	18. Chapter 18

The baths were blissfully empty when Julian arrived, and within a few minutes Julian was dressed in his bathing clothes, and was sinking into the warm waters with a sigh. The sweat he'd accumulated from the midday heat was washed away with the help of a soap Kelas had made specifically for his skin, and he sighed again as the stale salty smell was replaced by the gentle, sweet scent of the soap. He slid under the water to wash his hair, but to his dismay, the heat and jealousy he'd felt earlier was still present when he resurfaced. 

He wasn't even certain what he was jealous of, or whom. Was he jealous of Elim, or of Kelas? Perhaps it was both, and Julian felt the same tendril of longing when thinking of either of them paying romantic overtures to imaginary, faceless Cardassians. It was intoxicating, the thought of being curled between the two of them, in a nest formed by the warmth of their affection and love for each other. Julian could not help a shy little smile curl into his lips, and he shook his head. Perhaps once upon a time he would've scolded himself for being so lonely that he wanted to tear a loving couple apart. But Julian was older now, more worldly, and he knew he did not want to break them apart, only to fit himself somewhere in the romantic equation. A triad, where the three of them loved and were loved in return. 

He sunk deeper into the water. Love was not all he felt - lust too reared its head. Both Elim and Kelas were attractive in their own right, and Julian would not deny that occasionally he'd sneak looks when they bathed together. The medication he was on increased his libido, and more recently his heated thoughts had switched from faceless hands and touches to Cardassian scales, recognisable as either Kelas or Elim, but more commonly as both. It was in these situations Julian was glad that he was born female - it would've been much harder to hide morning wood from his bedmate if he had a full-size penis, rather than the small clitoris-cock that ached to be touched. Occasionally, Julian felt guilty about fantasizing about his coupled friends, but… 

Well, no-one could begrudge him his fantasies. 

Entertaining the aroused direction his mind had taken him, he ran his hands over the softness of his chest, playing with his nipples until they became pebbled and sensitive underneath his swim clothes. He pinched one, then sighed as a jolt of pleasure bolted down his spine deep into his nether regions. He let his hands drop into the water, running down his belly and across his thighs, letting his nails scratch the sensitive inner thigh as he pulled his hands back and forth across his skin. He allowed himself the pleasure of the simple movement, before he shifted his hands closer to his crotch, and with one hand cupped the fabric of his swim clothes around his cock and the lips of his labia. His cock was already half-hard, the small head pressing against the creases of his palms as he rocked his palm, the warmth of the movement making him nearly moan.

 _Maybe I shouldn’t be doing this in public_ , Julian thought, and sighed. The Bajoran slaves were probably around cleaning, and they had enough on their plates as it was - they didn’t get paid enough to also have to watch Julian get himself off in a public bath. Julian looked around, and spied a smaller pool that was a little more private, half hidden by arch columns and thin, gauzy curtains. He pulled himself out of the main bath, and grabbed his towel, before furtively sneaking behind the curtain into the private bath. He set his towel on the side of the bath and, with only a moment’s hesitation, slipped off his swim clothes. It was more private here, and he felt more comfortable stripping off and bathing as he was supposed to. Besides, the clothes would only get in the way of his pleasure.

Julian slid into the bubbling water with a sigh. Elim was right - the baths were better experienced without his swim clothes. The bubbles from the air vents beneath were glorious on his sensitized skin, and he easily sunk down to his chin in the water. Now hidden by the bubbles and the curtain, Julian let himself play some more, his hands almost skating across his heated skin, across his nipples and down into his thatch of pubic hair. His very interested cock bumped against his fingers, and he huffed at the sudden sensation, and smiled.

Would Elim touch him like this? If they were actually married, and not in some sham partnership? Julian remembered Elim’s thick fingers on their wedding night, brushing his skin, pressing into soft, sensitive spots and thrusting into his warmth. Julian tried to mimic that same feeling, brushing the underside of his small cock with his nails, and hissed at the pleasure. Elim would touch him like this, carefully at first, and then more firmly, and would kiss him as he everted into Julian’s waiting palm. Kelas would too, he thought, although Kelas was far more… certain. Dominant. Kelas would pull Julian’s lips away from Elim’s, press their own lips there, pulling a little on Julian’s hair, knowing exactly how Julian liked it.

Julian shoved his free fist in his mouth to stifle a whisper, as his fingers moved into a rubbing pattern to fully stimulate his cock. Kelas would hold his writhing body against themself, their round belly pressing into the curve of his back, their hand rubbing just the same patterns as Elim prepared himself, his own _phmūäð_ fully everted but with two fingers stuffed up his _chlūäch_ , in the warm space that normally housed his flushed hardness. Would it be Kelas or Julian who fucked him? Julian’s cock throbbed with pleasure at the thought of either of them pressing some kind of toy deep inside him, watching him sigh as his warmth stretched to accommodate it.

Unable to stifle his moans with his hands any longer, Julian rolled over in the water, so that his chest rested on the pool edge. He pulled his towel over, and buried his face in it, one arm keeping him anchored to the pool edge, and the other working overtime on his aching cock. In this fantasy, he would be fucking Elim ruthlessly, lying on his back as Elim lowered himself onto the waiting toy. Elim’s thrusts would make the toy tug so deliciously on Julian’s cock, and the thought made him whimper in desperation. Kelas wouldn’t be watching - they’d be involved, kissing him, kissing Elim, and Julian would be able to touch that plush arse that Kelas flaunted, touch and press into their heat, rub against their small _mëūë_ , similar to his own-

Julian rutted against his hand, mouth full of towel, desperate to orgasm, his fantasy playing out vividly in his mind. Kelas lifting their leg and straddling his face, allowing Julian to eat them out, face full of perfect arse, hands pushing and squeezing the soft, yielding scale. Elim would be grinding against the toy attached to his crotch, seeking orgasm too, the sensations driving perfect bolts of pleasure up his spine. Kelas would lean forward, kiss Elim, moaning into each other’s lips, whimpering and whining from the pleasure the three of them were creating, and Elim would orgasm first, his back arching, warmth tightening-

Julian felt the first shudder of his orgasm wrack through him, and he gasped and moaned into his towel. In his fantasy, Kelas came soon after, orgasm dribbling all over Julian’s face, and Julian rutted to that image until the last aftershocks of his orgasm died, and he was left to lazily undulate in the water. His orgasm had taken all the pent-up energy from him, and he sleepily settled his head onto his towel, sated and warm. He really wasn’t going to sleep - he needed to do his lessons today, but the bath was warm and he was tired, and he only needed to close his eyes for a little while…

When he awoke some time later, it was to the vision of Elim reading next to him, who’d apparently joined him in the pool while he was asleep. Julian blinked, a little confused, before his memory of the pleasure he’d indulged himself in came to the forefront of his mind, and he very nearly buried his face in his towel again.

“What time is it?” Julian asked instead, trying to tamp down his embarrassment. Elim looked up from his book, and smiled at him. 

“Only a little past midday,” he replied lightly. “I came down when I noticed you weren’t in the reading room.”

“Ah.” Julian rubbed his face, a little sheepish. “I must’ve fallen asleep. I’m surprised I didn’t slide into the water and accidentally drown, to be honest.”

“Magic,” Elim tapped the side of the pool. “Reduces the chance of your head going under the water, unless you intend it.”

“Huh,” Julian tapped the side of the pool too, and was surprised to feel the spark of magic flicker against them. “That’s fairly neat.”

“Mm.” Elim turned back to his book, feigning nonchalance. “I also see you did finally take my advice on bathing clothes.”

If Julian had no fear of exposure, he certainly would’ve used magic to try and spell his swim clothes back on. Instead, he blush beet red, and turned away. “It was… more private here.” he muttered, and he didn’t even have to look at Elim to know that his usual highly irritating self-satisfied expression had found its way onto his face.

“How was your work?” Julian asked, desperate to change the subject. 

“As necessary as ever,” Elim replied, and Julian took that to mean it was one of those _regrettable_ missions. “Unfortunate, but…” 

Julian’s brain was itching to imagine exactly _what_ Elim had done this time, but he quashed the thought. It would just be worse if he knew. 

“Will you be alright? Is there anything I can do?” he asked instead. Elim sighed, but did not move away from the touch. 

“It’s not the first time I’ve had to do this.”

“I know. I’d like to help you anyway.” 

Elim laughed. “You and Kelas do that a lot. Try and help me.” 

“Because we care. I can’t help you in the way Kelas can, but I’d like to think if you needed support…” 

“I appreciate it, Julian.” Elim patted Julian’s arm. “One day, I’ll be in a position to return the favour.” 

Julian met his eyes, and smiled. The genuine affection in Elim’s face nearly made him forget that really they were two naked men sat in a bathtub together, talking covertly about assassination and abuse. Perhaps it was because of Julian’s earlier ministrations, but Julian’s mind was slowly coming to the realisation that this would also be a good time to kiss Elim, properly, none of the fake marriage bullshit, as a potential lover. He had enough of his wits about him to not go for it - he had a _partner_ , a _very nice attractive_ partner - but it did not stop his fevered imaginings bursting into vivid colour at the back of his mind, of kissing Elim, of wanting to kiss Kelas with Elim later, of something _more-_

“Talking of our erstwhile friend,” Elim’s voice jerked Julian out of his musings. “Kelas would like to see you, after hours.”

 _A rendezvous_ , Julian’s traitorous mental voice supplied, and he stuffed the voice straight back into the recesses of his brain. 

“For, ah, another moonblossom collection?” 

“Mmm.” Elim turned back to his book. “My father has returned too, and also wishes to see you. Whenever you’re free.” 

Whatever lustful thoughts had been lingering soured at the thought of Tain. “Of course,” he murmured. “I’ll dry off and go see him.” 

In a far less amorous mood, Julian pulled himself out of the pool, and grabbed his towel, missing the admiring look Elim gave his body as he did so. Julian would’ve far preferred to have stayed in the bath for a longer time, teasing Elim, perhaps waiting for Kelas to come down, but Tain’s summons came with an undeclared ‘as soon as possible’ which Julian felt could only be ignored if one had a deathwish. He sighed, but before he could re-enter the dressing room, Elim’s voice called across the bath. 

“Julian?” 

“Yes?” 

“Come back down to the baths after your meeting? I should like to test you on your reading.” 

Julian laughed. “Of course.”


	19. Chapter 19

Across town, other residents too were looking to relax. Ziyal crept quietly up to the upstairs reading room where her wife liked to work. The dissident meeting was in an hour, and Ezri was still hard at work. She knew that Ezri often got carried away while writing and would startle easily if distracted, so for a time, she simply stood in the doorway and watched. She loved the quiet intensity in those blue eyes, the way Ezri looked so single-mindedly focused on a thing so unseen as words, as language. It was one thing to turn an image in one’s head into an image on a canvas, but putting that image into a sentence, making it come alive in the mind of a different person - Ziyal could not imagine doing that herself. Ezri was amazing at it, for all of her self-doubt. Her editorial articles, published under a pseudonym of course, managed to stand a cut above the usual propaganda one read in the newspapers and inspire thought, debate, even conviction in their readers. 

But right now, Ziyal wanted something more visceral than words. Upon approach, she gently lay a hand on her wife's back. “How is it coming along?” She asked, peering over Ezri’s shoulder. 

The desk was strewn with pages of notes and half-finished manuscripts. Ezri frowned at her typewriter. “Not good. I think I'm going to kill Torias.”

“The pilot? I rather liked him.”

“I know, I did too, but I've tried and tried and there's no way the story can keep going unless he dies.” Ezri groaned in frustration. Ziyal ran a hand down the length of her arm, interlacing their fingers when she reached them.

“Come. Take a break,” she whispered into her ear. 

“But we have a meeting-” Ezri protested weakly.

“That's later. Right now the sun is high, and I want you to relax with me,” Ziyal replied, kissing her spotted temple. She took a single step away, tugging gently on Ezri's arm. Ziyal smiled lazily, and when Ezri returned that smile Ziyal felt a warmth rising in her chest. 

They kissed softly every step of the way to the bedroom; for a moment, Ziyal felt like they were back on Bajor, chasing each other through the school grounds. As the afternoon sun burned through the wooden slats covering the window, they fell into their bed, where Ziyal traced her fingers along the line of spots, starting at Ezri’s forehead and trailing down, down until she reached her collarbone. 

“Well… maybe just for half an hour, and then I really need to get back to-” Ezri began, but her voice soon trailed off as if distracted. She linked her hands around Ziyal’s neck, fingers counting off the scales along her spine. Ezri has always had such warm hands, after all, and Ziyal could feel that heat radiate down her back as if she was in a steam bath. 

“I was thinking maybe after Torias is killed, I can shift the narrative to - ahh, to his wife, Nilani?” Ezri mused aloud as Ziyal kissed the spots on her neck. With every scale she touched, Ziyal could feel her own heartbeat hasten. Still, down Ziyal went, undaunted by all of Ezri’s attempts to spur her on. After three years of marriage, she knew what this game was. She knew that Ezri would try to get her to hurry up and finish so she could get back to the reading room, back to her words. But Ziyal wanted her _here_ , she wanted her time and her attention and her breaths, all for herself.

Ziyal never knew how much time they had left. So she took as much of it as she could. 

As one strap was lowered, and then another, she looked down, her gaze both asking permission and giving it. Ezri rose up, catching her lips in a hungry kiss, while Ziyal worked with practiced hands at the ties and straps fitted into the dress. It was fashionable for non-Cardassian women in higher society, few as they were, to bind their chests to look more like their native counterparts. Finally, the last fastening came apart and she heard Ezri let out a deep sigh of relief as her breasts came free. Ziyal felt her tail twitch in anticipation; she could feel Ezri’s urgency, her desire, but she has had plenty of practice at spreading out their pleasures. 

Even now, when it seemed like they knew each other better than anyone, Ziyal was finding small things about Ezri that marked them as distinct - Ezri was soft, and rounded, and small, all of the things that Ziyal was not. But when they lay like this, stretched out on top of each other in the heat, their importance receded.

She nuzzled gently at Ezri’s right breast before taking it into her mouth, rolling the small nub of flesh around on her tongue until it became hard. Above her, Ezri let out a gasp, and Ziyal could feel her breathing quicken, hands moving from her back to her neck ridge. Hissing out in surprise and pleasure, her teeth grazed the nipple slightly, and a whimpering moan burst forth from Ezri’s lips. 

“I feel like that’s cheating, _zasehv'I_...” Ziyal said, smirking up at her wife.

“You’re not playing fair, either,” Ezri countered, her fingers quickly finding that one sensitive scale. Ziyal could feel something akin to an electric charge shoot through her body into the tip of her tail. 

“True, but this is a game of endurance, not speed. So…” she reached up and kissed Ezri’s playful smile. “Kindly allow me to continue.”

After ensuring that the left breast was tended to just as thoroughly as its twin, Ziyal nipped and kissed her way with a torturous pace down Ezri's stomach, her trimmed claws tracing the parallel lines of spots to where they crossed the hip bones. 

“Ziyal… please... “ Ezri moaned at the head of the bed, her head thrown back. 

“Hmm? Please what?” Ziyal asked, feigning ignorance as she paused in her trail of kisses, resting her chin on Ezri’s hip bone and casually running a single claw up the back of her thigh.

“Oh, _f-f-f-f-ates_ Ziyal!” Ezri exclaimed, just as Ziyal could feel the muscle twitch under her touch. 

Ziyal smirked to herself; it worked every time. As she allowed her hand to drift down between Ezri’s legs to spread them further, she could feel her own _vit_ growing impatiently wet, but she ignored it. She wanted so badly to make her wife forget all of this, forget how much she had given up to be with her, forget the danger looming over their heads. She wanted Ezri to forget everything but herself, to reduce their life together down to the most essential components. 

When they met, they had both been strangers in a land not their own. Ziyal could offer her nothing certain or familiar. And yet Ezri chose it anyway, chose all of this just to be with _her_. It was a choice she still could not understand, even after all this time. Resuming her downward journey, Ziyal thought that it seemed a fair exchange to let her win the game, this time and any other.

As stray sunbeams fell on their entwined bodies, Ezri cried out her name, and Ziyal felt like nothing else mattered. 

BREAK

“You’re late,” a thoroughly annoyed Kelas proclaimed when Ziyal and Ezri finally made their appearance at the meeting, coming in from a narrow alley to a restaurant in East Torr.

“We were busy,” Ziyal replied casually, as Ezri tried to discreetly fix the straps of her dress under the cape she had draped over her shoulders. 

Rolling their eyes, Kelas tapped their cane a specified number of times on the back door. From the other side, the knocks were returned, and Kotan quickly opened the door, ushering all of them inside. Everyone else had already gathered, mostly in anxious silence; Julian looked up at their entrance, perhaps with relief. Two people did not react to their arrival: Ro Laren and Kira Nerys, sitting together in the center of the room around a map of the city, discussing something in hushed but impassioned tones.

“About time. Can we start now?” Rugal complained from his seat near the back, and got a sharp look from his father for his remark. 

There were a few more Bajorans in attendance this time, Ziyal noticed. Kira had obviously come through on their earlier plan to mobilize some of the workers in key positions throughout the city. If this scheme of theirs was going to work, they’d need all the help they could get. Of course, it would’ve been helpful if more of it came from prominent Cardassian leaders, but openly opposing Enabran Tain usually lead to career suicide at best - and actual suicide at worst. Ezri must’ve felt her grow tense, because no sooner had she started thinking of her father than her wife leant close to place a comforting hand on Ziyal’s shoulder. 

Kira Nerys rose up to begin the meeting. “Welcome, all. We realize that each of you is taking a risk by being here, and we are forever in your debt for that. I’d also like to thank Ezri Tigan for that very powerful article in last week’s paper. I’m sure some of you are here because of her words.” There was scattered applause, and Kira continued. “The demonstration last week at the University went as well as could be expected, and the petitions are circulating around the-“

“Someone’s here,” Ro Laren declared, and every voice in the room quieted. And indeed, there was a knock on the door, despite the fact that everyone was accounted for. On silent feet, Ro stepped over to the small covered window where she wouldn’t be seen. “It’s a Cardassian,” she mouthed at Kira. Kira took a breath and gave Ro a quick nod.

All eyes were on Ro as she opened the door slightly. “I… I’ve come to join your cause,” the woman on the other side said.

Ro eyed her suspiciously, and was about to draw her knife when Ziyal blinked in surprise. “Sokoa? Is that you?”

“You know her?” Kira asked, tension rising in her voice. 

Everyone turned to look at Ziyal, in a way that made her slightly uncomfortable. “She’s… my father’s Seneschal,” she explained. “I trust her. She’s loyal.” 

“I can vouch for her too,” Julian added. 

“Lets just hope she’s loyal to the right people…” Ro sighed, opening the door just long enough to allow the woman to enter. Sokoa stepped inside, nodding to Ziyal before moving to stand beside Kelas. The meeting continued, but Ziyal noticed that the finer details of the plan were discussed in varied Bajoran dialects now - the Bajoran slaves were, of course, the main instigator of their plan, and the non-Bajorans fitted themselves around them. Sokoa too noticed the language shift, and seemed to shrink back into the shadows, clearly nervous. Kelas turned to her, and spoke in their native Cheða, and whatever it was seemed to calm Sokoa. Although she still hung back, she lost much of the worried look. When the formal meeting came to an end, and most participants moved into separate discussion groups, Ro came towards them, and Ziyal straightened up, ready to defend. 

“You know the rules, Ziyal.” Ro didn't beat around the bush when she arrived at their motley group. “Any new member must be vetted by Nerys and I, _especially_ those coming from House Tain-“

“My apologies, ma'am,” Sokoa hastily interrupted, giving a most reverent bow. “It wasn't Ziyal's idea for me to come - I came of my own accord.” 

“Then how did you find us?” 

“I followed Doctor Parmak and Mister Bashir. I lost them just before the first barricade, but by chance I saw _ashti_ Ziyal heading this way. They didn't know, I promise.”

“And why did you come?” 

“I have information. I thought it would be of use to you.” 

Sokoa was still bowed over. Ziyal heard Julian murmur, “I _knew_ we were being followed,” but her eyes were on Ro. She remembered Sokoa well - she had been the first welcoming face she saw when she returned from Bajor, and made certain Cardassia recognized the union between Ezri and herself before her father tried any machinations to break them apart. She was a good woman. Ro watched Sokoa's bowed form for a few moments, before sighing. 

“If both Ziyal and Julian vouch for you, I suppose we can trust you. Straighten up now - we're all equals here…” 

Sokoa straightened up, flushing a little. Ziyal stepped a little closer, laying a hand on the small of her back. She seemed to appreciate the gesture, and gave Ziyal a nervous smile, before turning back to Ro. 

“Now,” Ro said, “you had information.”

“Yes.” From within her coat, Sokoa withdrew a sheaf of papers, a little wrinkled and clearly hastily taken. “These are orders from the Castellan himself - to transfer several slaves to the cohort under the command of House Dukat.” 

Ziyal involuntarily hissed upon hearing of House Dukat. It was well known that their treatment of slaves was one of the poorest in Cardassia. Ro too looked concerned, and she took the sheaf and began to leaf through it, her nose ridges deepening into a frown as she read. 

“This matches the intel we've been receiving,” she murmured, looking at Sokoa. “But this is big information for a first meeting.” 

Sokoa nodded. “My wife and I have been sympathetic, but we are not fighters.” 

“Some of us don't have that choice.” Ziyal saw Ro's eyes flicker towards Kira. Sokoa seemed to understand her meaning, and nodded. 

“We had that luxury. And with our positions, we could not risk it - me, as a servant to the Castellan, and her as an enslaved political activist.”

Ro tilted her head. “Your wife is Bajoran.” 

“Yes. Tora Naprem - I assume you have heard of her.” 

Ro nodded, but Ziyal knew Ro knew Naprem far differently than she did. Ro knew Naprem as the dissident from _Bajor-Cu'unetheque University_ , who wrote a protest column in a national newspaper. Ziyal knew her as her old private tutor on Bajor, one she'd come to consider a second mother. When her father made her a slave, and refused to put her under Ziyal's employ, Ziyal had been heartbroken, and had refused to stay in her father's mansion until Naprem was allowed to stay with her - a situation that continued to this day. 

“I heard she disappeared,” Ro said slowly. “Vanished, gone into hiding.” 

“She's in my father's employ,” Ziyal added. “I've seen her - my father refused to transfer her to me.”

Ro nodded. “And she's your wife?” 

“In the Bajoran way, yes.” Sokoa shuffled her feet. “That's also the reason why I came here. Naprem was re-arrested last night. Her sentence was due to end in two weeks-”

“And Tain is having her re-enslaved instead of freeing her.” Ro swore, “ _Ri-thalem!”_

“It's not only that,” Sokoa murmured, “I'm certain her past dissidence has raised the Castellan's suspicions about… unloyal subjects. She's part of the contingent to be transferred to House Dukat.” 

There was a pregnant pause, and Ziyal felt her insides twist with fury and despair. “He can't do that,” she said. “He _can't._ He knows he'll no longer have an heir if he mistreats Naprem - I _won't_ stand for it!” 

“I don't think it matters, Ziyal.” Kelas shook their head. “Elim's been saying for weeks now - the Castellan's been growing more concerned about the revolution. If he's willing to scorn you…”

“Then he's planning to move,” Ro finished, “To crush the rebellion, any way and any how.”

Never before had Ziyal felt so powerless. Her heart felt like it was being crushed in a vice grip, and she shut her eyes momentarily so that the group would not see the tears that sprung there. She felt someone squeeze her arm - Ezri, who looked concerned and troubled. She turned so she could press their foreheads together, drawing what little comfort she could. 

“Thank you for this, Sokoa,” she heard Ro murmur. “I'll pass this to Nerys and the others.” 

“I don't intend to leave once Naprem is free,” Sokoa replied. “If the Castellan is trying to keep slavery alive, I want to stop him. I can't fight, but I can get you almost anything that crosses the Castellan's desk.”

“Sokoa, are you certain?” Ziyal heard Kelas ask. “If Castellan Tain catches you…” 

Ziyal turned back to the group to see Sokoa fix Kelas with a stern, determined gaze. 

“Doctor Parmak,” she said. “I will do _anything_ to keep my wife safe.”


	20. Chapter 20

Over the next few weeks, Elim watched as the dissident movement grew and grew. The city became divided, with strikes and protests almost every day. Torr, the city area with most of the serving class, barricaded itself off from the rest of the city, and became a safe haven for escaped or released slaves. While he could not be seen personally attending the resistance meetings, Elim was kept apprised of the happenings regularly by Kelas, as well as Ziyal, who mailed him reports using a code they had developed when she was only a child. Still, he could not let on that he had an inner source in the dissident groups, just like they could not know that he was financing their operations. It was a relationship of mutual benefit but also mutual avoidance, and it had been working out fairly well for everyone so far. 

Still, there was a limit to how much time he could afford to devote to such extra-curricular activities, as there was still his position within the Order to consider. Tain still did not seem to accept that Cardassia was shifting under his feet, and dedicated more of the Order's resources to countering the protestors. Elim had not been sent on such missions, to his relief, but his father had him hauled into meetings to discuss tactics and other matters. This was another way Elim was kept apprised of the situation - reports and meetings with his father. The reports were much more manageable than time spent with his father, but even these were still rather boring. Today, he sat in the solarium, afternoon light filtering through the canopy of leaves, illuminating the reports delivered straight from his father's desk. Time seemed to stretch on like the desert itself as Elim read over yet another intelligence briefing, undoubtedly one his father did not want to bother with himself. He frowned slightly as he noticed an incorrect set of coordinates, and made a mental note to have a talk with the junior operatives about proper record-keeping. 

The only upside to his dull labor was the fact that Julian had joined him a short while ago. As much as it surprised him to admit it, he had missed the young man of late - first while he tried to process what Elim had revealed to him of his true occupation, and now as his father sent him or more and more errands into the city. And no matter how much he tried to chase these traitorous thoughts from his head, he found himself returning to the matter of his Enjoined. Did he love him? No, love was… something else. He loved Kelas; over the years they had become complementary shapes, worn down by each other’s ministrations to form opposing outlines. When he looked at Kelas and felt warmth, home, a deep vastness of feeling that filled every crevice and chink in his self-made armour. That was not to say he did not have feelings for Julian, but rather they were… softer, less robust. Elim could feel the pinpricks of _something_ whenever Julian walked into the room. His body looped and buzzed with each word or flash of that brilliant smile, and Elim could not hide the desire to lie next to the human and talk until the early hours. 

So no, he did not love Julian. At least, not yet. But he was deeply, stupidly smitten with Julian. Smitten like a child with a new toy, like finding out someone you just met enjoyed the same kind of novels you did. He was getting distracted while working, something he had not done in many years, thinking of those soft curls or Julian’s boyish smile, so infectious and full of naive trust. 

_Stop it, Elim,_ he chastised himself. _He’s practically a child, and you’ve got Kelas…_ He was happy enough just being Julian’s friend, sharing in his acclimation to a new culture, teaching him his language. But now, as Julian sat opposite him, legs thrown casually over the edge of a sunning rock, a pad of paper and a pen in his hands, Elim could not help but look at the line of his thighs, the curve of his spine, the angles of his hand as it held the pen. He looked thoughtful, and also beautiful, like he was posing for a portrait. Elim kept sneaking glances over at Julian, then turning back to his reading every time Julian happened to look back at him. 

Eventually, when he was thoroughly annoyed at himself for engaging in such a childish game, he finally broke the silence. 

“What are you working on, Julian?”

“A letter, to people back home. But it’s not really coming along. I can’t figure out where to start…” He said, tapping the end of the pen against the pad impatiently. 

“One should always start at the beginning.” said another voice. Elim and Julian both turned to look - Kelas limped into the solarium, leaning heavily on their stick. They looked tired, but satisfied - Elim supposed a hard but good days work had been completed by the older doctor. Kelas limped over to them, and pressed a kiss of greeting on Elim's head. 

“Here to enjoy the afternoon sun, my dear?” Elim quipped, turning his gaze back to his reading. In truth, he was happy that Kelas had come to provide some distraction from his circling thoughts, which were certainly not on the reports and how to best undermine the Ferengi supporters of the rebellion, as his father wanted. Kelas sighed and shook their head, sitting down heavily in the most cushioned part of the basket weave settee that Elim sat on. 

“Unlike _some_ people, I do not have the luxury of an idle life.” they explained. “I’ve been in the slave quarters since dawn, tending to a birth. It was a difficult delivery, but I’m fairly confident that mother and child will live.” Sitting closer, Elim could now see beneath the satisfaction, they looked quite haggard, strands of hair escaping the hastily tied bun they had done up when roused from their sleep. Julian set down his unwritten letter and stepped around the back of the settee, putting a gentle hand on the doctor’s back. 

“May I fix your hair for you?” He asked. Kelas made a noncommittal noise in reply, closing their eyes as if ready to fall asleep where they sat. With a slight tut, Julian guided them to sit back into the pillows, rearranging them to provide most support. Kelas settled with a sigh, blinking sleepily. Julian untied the cord first to let the hair fall down Kelas’ back, then began making sections and braiding them together, working quickly but carefully. 

_How odd_ , Elim thought, watching them with curiosity. For as long as they had known each other, Kelas had been extremely protective of their hair, refusing to let most people touch it. And yet here they were, quiet and relaxed, with Julian's fingers teasing out knots and beginning to tidy the nest of hair. Elim looked at the pair of them; his enjoined, with whom he was smitten, and his partner, whom he loved. He watched Julian’s long fingers twist the small, delicate braids into Kelas’ hair, and wondered where he'd learnt to braid. He did not have long hair, but had not mentioned any siblings… He thought for a few moments, until he suddenly realised, and it was as if a light had suddenly appeared in his head. Of course. _Of course_. 

“Where did you learn this?” Kelas asked finally, taking a single braid and admiring Julian’s handiwork.

“Oh, a past life I guess.” Julian mused, smiling faintly. 

“Some of us have more of those than others, it seems.” Elim replied, finally deciding to set aside the reading that he was obviously not getting through today. He kept his attention on the two of them instead; watching them together like this was… eye-opening. Kelas too clearly held Julian in high regard, and Elim wondered if Kelas wanted to date him as much as he himself did. Polygyny and polyamory were not unheard of on Cardassia, but Elim had never thought he'd be so lucky as to be able to snare one person to date, let alone two. Kelas had been a fluke - with his position in the Order, with the things he had done, dating Elim Garak was a dangerous prospect. His father too would be angry at any romantic prospect - sentimentality was the bane of any good operative, and lovers of Elim Garak faced coming to a very sticky end. But here sat two people, with whom, Elim was desperately smitten, showing all the signs of something Elim never thought he could have. 

Wouldn't that be a grand thing? If Kelas said yes, if they both pursued Julian, Elim felt as if everything would fall into place. In this imagined fantasy of Elim's, his father and the rebellion were far away, and they lived in a world of soft corners and gentle touches. They would live, laugh, love in their triad, they would read books, squabble over them, eat dinners together and partake in several amorous adventures in their bed. And in the morning, Julian would sit down and braid Kelas’ hair, just like he was doing tonight in the solarium. It felt like a scene from some other life, one where some small change would result in a very different outcome. 

Elim had often felt as though much of his life wasn’t entirely his choice. But this… this felt distinctly chooseable. 

“Julian, dear, if you’re still intent on sending that letter, Sokoa can help you determine the postage. Why don’t you go see her?” Elim said, his tone bearing a distinct air of suggestion.

“Oh… yes, I suppose I should do that. I think I’m about done here, anyway.” Julian said, carefully tying the last braid. “You rest now, Kelas, alright?” 

With a wave and a smile, Julian hurried out the door, into the rapidly sinking daylight outside. It did not escape Elim’s attention that the doctor watched him depart, gazing perhaps a moment too long. 

“Why, Kelas.” Elim drawled, as soon as the door shut behind Julian. “I do believe you're smitten.” 

“As if you're _not_.” Kelas fingered their new braids, still smiling. “He's quite… something, our Julian.”

 _Our Julian_. The turn of phrase made Elim's stomach flip, as it did whenever Elim thought of Kelas as _my spouse_. 

“So what will you do?” Elim asked. “You essentially have an open field to court him in. It's not as if he's looking at me like he looks at you.” 

Kelas frowned at him. “My dear Elim,” they said, flatly. “If you can't see the looks that boy gives you, then I'm afraid I'll have to haul you in for an eye test.” 

“Hilarious.” 

“It's true.” Kelas shifted themselves on their mound of pillows. “I'm nearly certain - Julian's interested in the both of us. And I'll be happy for us all to date as a triad, if you'd like.” 

“You know I'd like that. But my father… I mean, Julian is protecting us from him. Once we all start dating, it'll be much harder for him to cover for us.”

Kelas nodded slowly, conceding the point. “I hear you. But I feel…” 

“What?” 

“I… I get the feeling that your father… might not stay in power for much longer.”

The warm feeling from earlier morphed into a cold lump. “You mean the revolution.” 

“We gain ground every day. Half the city has been occupied by us - barricades are blocking the Council from getting troops inside. The tides have turned significantly - we might win.” 

“And my father…” 

“Will be dislodged from power.” Kelas leant across to rest a hand on Elim's foot. “What I mean to say is that you should not shape you desires around what Castellan Tain wants, because I don't think your father won't have the power to threaten us for much longer.”

Conflicted, Elim simply tilted his head. “Perhaps,” he murmured. “We'll still need to be careful.” 

“Oh, of course. Discretion is highly advised.” Kelas smiled at him, somewhat devious. “Do I take it that you intend to make a move on him?” 

“Yes - but I'd like to think on it first.”

“Well, don’t take too long.” Kelas patted his foot, before leaning back into the pillow mound. “If you don't make a move, I will.”


	21. Chapter 21

Kelas was true to their word. Over the next few weeks, their relationship with Julian turned flirtatious and warm. Elim recognized the turn, from when Kelas had been seducing him, and was initially jealous, until he realised he could easily tackle that jealousy by also flirting with Julian. Caught in the middle, Julian seemed both flattered and embarrassed by the new attention, but seemed to at least accept the new angle of their relationship, although rather nonplussed about the new attention. 

Unfortunately, the new attention received by Julian did not go unnoticed. 

“Elim,” Tain had asked him, in one of their weekly report meetings. “Let me ask you a question. 

Elim, who had been organizing reports on the desk, dropped what he was doing, and joined his father at the round window. Down in the grounds, Elim could see Kelas and Julian working in Kelas’ medicinal herb garden. 

“Our young friend seems to be spending rather a lot of time with Doctor Parmak of late.” Tain noted. Elim knew that tone of voice. He knew the cadence of the sentence. It was a simple declarative statement, a line cast to determine how someone would react. It didn’t matter if the bait was true or not, the reaction was the important part. 

“The medical needs of _humanji_ are quite different from our own, Father.” He said, keeping his tone of voice neutral as well. “The doctor is simply trying to protect your investment. After all, it would be quite a shame to have brought him all this way only to have him succumb to some minor ailment.”

“That it would.” Tain paused. “But he seems… rather _attached_ to Doctor Parmak.”

“I suppose that's to be expected, given Julian has also been taking lessons from them. It was of course natural for a bond to grow.” 

“But what kind of bond, I wonder. I shudder to think what kind of things could develop from an _apprentice_ bond.” 

The implication in his voice was clear. “He's faithful, Father,” Elim said firmly, hoping to convince the Castellan from these thoughts. “I'm certain of it.” 

“I am glad to hear you are so certain. Yet, perhaps, there are some things that have slipped your notice…”

Elim hummed in a noncommittal way, already making a mental note for Kelas to be just a little more discreet. Tain watched him for a few moments, before asking; “And how is _your_ relationship with Julian?”

“It's fine.” Elim replied, slightly nonplussed. “We get on well. Julian often talks to me about the books he's reading, or something he's seen, or heard on the radio. Occasionally we play _kotra_.” 

“You do not think he's defected?” 

“Is that why you're concerned about his relationship with Doctor Parmak?” 

Tain tipped his head. “I know there are sympathisers within our cohort of servants and slaves. Last week, a contingent of our slaves gifted to House Dukat vanished. Someone in this house passed on information.” 

“And you think Doctor Parmak is responsible?”

“Do you think they were responsible?”

“I don't see how they would've been able to get a hold of that information.” 

Tain sighed. “Our operatives are investigating, but whoever leaked covered their tracks rather well. We'll find them eventually, but I fear Julian's… _friendships_ with the help may be a liability. He may… overlook things he shouldn't.”

“He is honest - I wouldn't peg him for a liar.”

“A bond may… skew a man's belief system. Make him act outside his nature.”

Elim thought back on how he himself had changed, through his associations with Kelas, and later with Julian, and wryly noted that for once Tain was right, although not for the reasons he believed. 

“Who do you think will… corrupt him?” Elim asked. “If you think he's at risk.” 

“I know already that he plays _korta_ with Sokoa, and is well regarded by the slaves. It could be any of them.”

“Does that not put him in a good position, to keep an eye on any sympathist tendencies?” 

Tain considered the idea for a moment. “It does. But it still puts him at risk, especially considering his Federation nature. And anyways, it is not becoming for one of his status to socialize with the help.” 

Elim sighed, realising a lost fight when he saw it. “I'll keep an eye on him.” 

“Good, good.” Tain moved away from Elim, back towards his desk. “And how is your sister?” 

“She's well. I saw her a few days ago. No change in sympathies.” 

In fact, Ziyal had presented tea with a new rant about Tain's slavery practices, but that was honestly no change from the usual. 

“And her wife? Our operatives report she's been writing articles in the underground magazines again.”

“Did she ever stop?”

“ _You_ were supposed to stop her. You were supposed to ensure she did not defect.” 

“And she hasn't defected. But I cannot stop her from writing for those underground publications.” 

“You could have tried.” 

“Not even you have managed to stop the underground press. What hope do I have?” 

Tain was silent for a moment. “You may go.” he finally said. “I may need you soon, to… manage something, but for now, go.”

With some concern, Elim nodded and left. 

BREAK

Outside, Kelas and Julian worked in the medicinal garden all morning and deep into the afternoon. The Indaric mint Kelas had planted earlier in the year was growing far better than Kelas had ever expected, and now they and Julian had to fight to keep it from taking over the other necessary herbs. Working in the gardens was hard work, Kelas knew that, and so when Julian suggested they stop their toil for the day at mid-afternoon, they were only too happy to split up and find their relief elsewhere - Julian inside to the cool reading room, and Kelas to staff hours in the baths. 

“I'll see you tomorrow, yes?” Julian asked as they parted company. 

“Yes - after my clinic.” Kelas nodded. “I have a book I'd like to show you, from the archives. It might have some things you can try out.”

Julian grinned, and Kelas’ heart fluttered a little at the sight. With a warm, cozy feeling, Kelas turned away and headed towards the baths. They untied their hair on the way, shaking out the dirt, and once they got down into the changing rooms, quickly stripped out of their gardening clothes. But they did not make it to the baths - just as they passed by one of the columns in the bath house, they felt themselves being pulled behind one of the pillars, and soon found themselves pinned up against the wall by Elim, hidden in the shadows. . 

“Elim,” Kelas said, exasperated. “Did you need to do that?” 

“Mmm,” Elim began kissing up their neckridge. “I haven't seen you. You've been with _Julian_ all day.” 

“Jealous, are we?” Kelas laughed. “Of which one of us?”

“ _Both.”_ Elim pressed a kiss to their unresisting lips. “When are you going to make your move?” 

Kelas thought for a moment. “Tomorrow, I think.”

“So soon?” 

“Mmm. Will you be ready to make your move soon?” 

“I will. But it does mean this might be the last time I'll have you _all_ to myself.” 

Elim kissed them again, and again, and Kelas was content to let them. Kissing in shadowed corners, touching like frisky teenagers, Kelas felt a thrill run up their spine with every kiss. While Kelas was nude, Elim still wore clothes, and Kelas allowed their hands to unfasten tunics and slide under fabric to all Elim's erogenous zones. It was only when Kelas heard someone enter the changing rooms that they reluctantly disengaged from Elim's kisses, and placed a hand on their chest to stop them from continuing. 

“ _Ðurha,_ ” Kelas murmured. “I'd very much like to please you. But _not_ during staff hours in the baths.”

“Why not?” Elim groaned, leaning as close as he could, eyes on Kelas’ lips. “I'm so _close_ to everting - we don't need to take it slow. And didn't you tell me to not be afraid of who catches us?”

Kelas knew that was exactly what they _hadn't_ said, but their arousal was making it rather hard to think. They considered the matter, before allowing their hand to drop, letting Elim come close again. Elim immediately pressed kisses to their lips, hungry and desperate, and didn't complain when Kelas proceeded to strip him of his clothes. Without the hindrance of clothes, hands moved to sensitive spots on instinct, trailing blazing hot down side scales and settling onto flushed hip ridges. Kelas soon took control, guiding Elim's hands to where they wanted pleasure, and pressing ever more demanding kisses to whatever bodypart was closest. 

They only broke from kisses when they moved from the pillar to one of the private pools. Elim entered first, and settled onto the sunken bench, opening his arms to allow Kelas to settle in their favourite position, dominating Elim from on top. They kissed again, and Kelas let their hand drift downwards to squeeze Elim's arse, then shifted positions to finger his slit. Elim was being truthful about how close they were - at Kelas’ first finger into their slit, the moaned low into their mouth, and rutted against it. Kelas felt the warmth pool around their hand, felt the arousal build, until with a heated gasp, Elim fully everted into their hand. 

The sound of their ministrations were mostly covered by the soft bubbling of the water and the hiss of the steam vents, but still Kelas drowned all of Elim's moans and gasps in deep kisses as they stroked their _phmūäð_. Not wanting to waste time, they climbed fully into Elim's lap, and arranged themselves so they could easily sink down onto their hardness, their _chlūäch_ easily stretching out to accommodate it. They bottomed out with a sigh, and began to carefully grind down, pleasuring their still sheathed _mëūë._ Elim whined a little, wanting to thrust into the warmth, but Kelas quietened them with kisses, and forced Elim to still as Kelas took their pleasure. 

It wasn't long before Kelas felt that dizzying rush of endorphins that signalled their evertion. They moaned into Elim's mouth, the sensation of water on their sensitive _mëūë_ almost overwhelming. Elim murmured soothing words, stroking their sides as they settled into the new sensations, before sliding their hands down onto Kelas’ arse, keeping them close. Kelas took that as a sign to stop teasing, and began to move on Elim's _phmūäð,_ easily rising into a full on bounce on Elim's lap. Their _mëūë_ lay trapped between their two round bellies,easily being pleasured as Kelas rode Elim. They traded bites and kisses, messy, desperate, hot, and Kelas knew they wouldn't last long. Within a few minutes, Elim buried his face in Kelas’ neck ridge, and gripped their arse hard, and Kelas bounced on his _phmūäð_ until Elim orgasmed. His arms came to crush Kelas against him, giving Kelas the perfect angle to rut against Elim's belly until they also found their orgasm, feeling it spray into the water as pleasure pulsed through them. 

They sank deeper into Elim's embrace, boneless and satisfied, allowing the water to wash away any signs of their pleasures. After a while, Elim's _phmūäð_ retracted, sliding easily out of Kelas’ _chlüäch_ , and Elim sighed in contentment. They kissed gently, warmly, before they rearranged themselves into more comfortable positions, still cuddling. Gingerly, Kelas began to stretch out their legs, which had begun to seize from their activities. 

“I'm getting too old for this,” they grumbled, and Elim laughed, pressing a kiss to their hair. 

“You'd better get used to it.” he smiled. “You're going to try and work a twenty-five year old into a triad tomorrow.” 

“Don't remind me.” Kelas pretended to swoon into the bath, laughing. “Double the pleasure, double the pain, I suppose.” 

“Mmm. Do you think Julian will say yes?”

That was a question that had secretly niggled at the back of Kelas’ mind ever since their eyes had been caught by that attractive young Human. But they'd been working so hard at enticing him, at flirting, at making Julian feel comfortable and welcome, that he could not doubt himself now. 

“I hope so.” Kelas smiled. “But only tomorrow will tell. I have something special in mind…”


	22. Chapter 22

“Ah, Julian! Good evening!”

The next day, Julian came up to the reading room for their lesson with Kelas. Unusually, Kelas had not summoned him to their cramped little laboratory - this time, Kelas said they had a book that they would read and discuss. Julian already had his impassioned arguments with Garak about Kardasi fiction, and supposed Kelas now thought he knew enough to have the same kind of discussions with them. A little voice at the back of Julian’s mind was already warming to the idea of impassioned _anything_ with the two Cardassians, but Julian shut it in a tiny box and ignored it. The two were very taken with each other - they didn’t need Julian imposing anything on their very happy relationship.

The reading room was as Julian had always remembered it - light, airy, roomy - and yet, something was… different. The room, in the evening light, was lit by both gas lamps and candles, and there was a slightly earthy scent on the air - herbal, warm, familiar but distinctly new, as if this was the first time Julian had taken the time to enjoy it. Kelas was sat on the settee, but rather than their usual frumpy cardigan plus thick robe, Kelas had shed their layers, and now wore a white off-shoulder shirt, displaying all their neck ridges, and a navy long skirt that fanned out across their legs and knees, before dipping upwards into a slit that exposed their calf. Something in Julian's head showed distinct interest in the exposed scales, and he squashed it frantically into the back of his mind.

“Kelas.” Julian smiled. “You're looking good this morning. A new shirt?”

“A less used one.” Kelas folded a braid behind their ear, almost coquettishly, and Julian sternly told his heart to stop doing flip flops. “I thought I should wear it again, given the… temperature.”

The temperature didn't seem to be different to Julian, but perhaps Cardassians were more sensitive to the difference between ‘hot’ and ‘still hot’. Julian settled in a chair next to Kelas, shuffling close to peer at their assembled materials on the table. The scent was stronger here, and Julian recognized the fragrance - it was the same dry, floral scent present at his wedding,and it seemed to be concentrated around _Kelas_. While back then it had made him nervous due to its foreign origin, now it seemed to be drawing him in deep, and Julian could almost feel himself melting into it, into… into…

“You said had a book for me to read?” Julian said, mentally trying to shake out the warm, cozy feeling Kelas’ fragrance was bringing out in him. “Something for non magical folk?”

“Mmm.” Kelas moved some papers aside, to reveal a small leather book, gilded on its corners in burnished copper. “I don't know how much you know about Cardassian magic-”

“Only what you've told me.”

“Ah. Well, you know that most magic - excepting sorcery - comes from a… spiritual place?”

“Yes.”

“Well, here in Cardassia, about three hundred and fifty years ago, we had a… magical renaissance of sorts. We wanted to develop magic that did not come from deities, which many in power saw as a threat to their supremacy.“

“They wanted to become… _more_ than deities?”

“Mmm. The more modern methods of sorcery were developed in that period, but not everything we did was that… _abusive_ to our populace.” Kelas tapped the book in front of them. “This is one of the milder developments. “Medicine that relied on the magic of creatures, rather than the magic of the crafter.”

“Sounds interesting. You think I can make the things in here?”

“Mmhmm.” Kelas carefully opened the book, to a page covered in drawings. “See here, with this one…”

Julian leant forward to examine the tome, fully aware of the lingering herbal scent of Kelas as they too leant forward to point out the information on the page. Their arms pressed warmly against his own as they read aloud from the book, and Julian was certain they were saying something very interesting about it’s contents, but he just couldn’t _focus._ The almost overwhelming scent of the Cardassian, the burning heat of their touch even through _clothes_ , and the desperate arousal he’d been trying to supress since he recognized it, all served to be incredibly distracting. He couldn’t even remember the name of the book they were supposed to be studying - and honestly, he couldn’t bring himself to care right now. He was certain he’d be interested in it in any other situation, but this situation drove all desire to read out of his mind, filling him with a desire to- to-

“Julian?”

Julian jumped, and blinked - Kelas was looking at him, with an amused smile twisting their lips. Julian ducked his head, embarrassed.

“Sorry,” he said. “I was… distracted.”

“Oh?” Julian wished Kelas’ brown eyes didn’t sparkle so mischievously, it was very distracting. “Distracted by what?”

“Just-” He gave a non-committal hand gesture. “My own thoughts. I get too deep in them sometimes.”

“Perhaps you should give voice to them?” Kelas shifted a little, and tilted their head in innocent curiosity. “So that they don’t distract you again.”

“I- no. I’m fine, really. I’ll focus, I promise.”

He bent forward to look at the book again, frowning in concentration. But Kelas did not join him, instead leaning back in their chair, and Julian could feel their eyes on the back of his neck. In the almost oppressive silence, the gaze was nearly a hum in the warm air. He shook his head, and tried to focus.

“So, uh- this- this _salve_ ,” Julian finally said, looking firmly at the page. “You said I could try to make it?”

“Mmm.” Kelas murmured. “It’s one you can make without magic - it’s based on the brightbase formulae-”

“Brightbase?”

“Ye-es.” Kelas coughed, and Julian suspected it hid a laugh. “I mentioned this five minutes ago.”

“I, er… wasn’t focusing then.” Julian gave Kelas a sheepish smile. “Summarize for me?”

“The brightbase is a basic recipe that uses the magic of other creatures rather than your own. It uses various plants, and the dust of the _eşşȳfnūn-”_

“ _Eşşȳfnūn?_ ”

“I think the term in your tongue is _fairy folk_. Or possibly _hags._ ” Julian looked up at Kelas, and found them smiling at him. “How long did you pay attention for?”

“Um- not for most of it.” Julian rubbed his face. “But I’ll focus now, I promise-”

“Hmm.” Kelas considered the thought, before lifting one clawed foot and flicking the book shut. “I think perhaps reading is not a worthwhile endeavour today.”

“Then what shall we do?”

“I think, we should…” Kelas paused, and Julian found his brain filling in the gap with all sorts of sensual activities. “...talk.”

“Talk?” Julian could not keep the slightly disappointing whine from his voice. “We’re already talking.”

“I know.” Kelas smiled, and- and did Kelas just shift closer to him? “I think we should talk about your… distraction.”

“My… distraction?”

“Mmm.”

“It’s nothing, I- it really is nothing, I just need some self-control-”

Kelas did not say anything while Julian spluttered excuses and apologies, but after a moment they leant forward, and brushed Julian’s hair away from his face. Julian’s brain short-circuited, and his panicked spluttering died away as Kelas’ fingers stroked down the curl of his hair and tapped against his head.

“Perhaps voicing them will make them a little less distracting in here, hmm?” Kelas murmured, smiling. “I may even have a... _solution_ to your… _distraction._ ”

Kelas was _flirting_. This sudden realisation careened first into his head then straight down into the pool of warmth growing at the base of his spine. Oh gods above, Kelas was _flirting_ with him, Kelas _knew_ , Kelas probably engineered this encounter to _flirt,_ and Julian was certain that perhaps he should be more careful and not flirt with _his husband’s lover,_ but Kelas’ face was suddenly very coy and very close, and oh _gods_ Julian wanted to _touch,_ feel that charcoal-albino patched scale under his fingers, forehead against forehead, he wanted to- _to-_

The door of the room suddenly opened, and Julian sprung away from Kelas as if scalded. He looked immediately towards the door, and saw the one person that made this entire situation _that much worse_.

“Did I interrupt something?” Elim smiled innocently at Julian, who knew how flushed and dishevelled he looked. He coughed, and shot a glance at Kelas, who _somehow_ didn’t have a hair out of place.

“I- no-” Julian stuttered, racking his brain for some excuse. “We were- ah- we were just reading.”

He indicated to the book on the table, and Elim’s eyeridge rose in amusement. “Oh? Another alchemical text?”

“Ye-es. We were just- um- talking about a salve I could try. Based on- um- brightbase, wasn’t it Kelas?”

He looked at Kelas for _some_ kind of support, but the doctor just smiled and said nothing. Julian cursed them several times in his head, and once under his breath, but Kelas just smiled wider, and in that moment Julian _hated_ him. Elim too wasn’t saying anything, smiling far too innocently, which was even _worse_ , and Julian frantically looked around for any kind of escape.

“Washroom,” he suddenly yelped, spotting the half open door across the room. “I just need to use the washroom- excuse me-”

And with that, Julian fled the room.

BREAK

Elim watched as Julian hurried into the washroom, and shut the door behind him, before turning to Kelas with a raised eyebrow. “Reading?”

“We _were_ reading.” Kelas said primly, examining his fingers. “He couldn’t focus.”

“Mmm. And of _course,_ this had nothing to do with you being _deliberately_ provocative?”

“Provocative? Me?” Kelas’ smile was a little sharp. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I can smell your fragrance from over here, and that shirt is the one you wore when you were trying to seduce _me_. And I know full well we have a bigger version of that book for sharing - you just wanted to snuggle up close to him and _flirt_.”

“And it was going so well.” Kelas sighed, and sagged back into the chair. “I was certain I was going to get a kiss before you came in and _spooked_ him.”

“It’s not _my_ fault he ran away.” Elim dropped into Julian’s abandoned chair with a slight grunt. “He could’ve stayed. We could’ve _talked_ about it. Discussed it. Told him that we’d both like to take him to bed.”

Kelas snorted. “Elim, we both know you and Julian would have just sidestepped the issue for half an hour. You both the communication skills of a dead _csūlrhacha_.”

“Mine aren’t _that_ bad.” Elim knocked his knee into Kelas’. “I got you, didn’t I?”

“After taking me on a moonlit stroll of the coast, and pontificating about the moonlight and the plants for most of it.” Kelas rolled his eyes. “You want to prove you have communication skills? Go and talk to Julian.”

“Kelas, I am not organizing sex for you. You go talk to him.”

“It’s not _me_ that’s the issue here.”

“Then what _is_ the issue?”

“It’s _you_. He thinks that if he sleeps with me, then it’s going to be an affair he has to hide from _you_.”

“Me?” Elim frowned. “We agreed on an open enjoinment, Kelas.”

“But that doesn’t necessarily mean he can sleep with his husband’s lover.”

“Well, that’s understandable.” Elim sighed. “I’ll go talk to him, then.”

“Good.” Kelas gave him an encouraging smile. “Be sure to actually _tell_ him that we’re _both_ interested, won’t you?”

“Of course.”

“I mean it.” Kelas eyed him as he pushed himself out of the chair. “If I find you’ve only told him about _my_ interest…”

“You’ll give me that disappointing look which makes me feel terribly guilty?” Elim shook his head. “I’ll tell him, I promise.”

The door to the washroom was unlocked when Elim approached, and no light came from the gap underneath it. As he pushed open the doon, the light from the reading room flooded into the small, dark room, illuminating the structures within. Julian had his back to the door, and was busy staring into the wash basin, hands gripping the sides of the counter with an almost deathly grip. Elim stepped further into the room, and spoke.

“Julian.”

Julian whirled around, eyes wide and looking rather pale. Upon seeing Elim, he suddenly reddened, and averted his gaze.

“Elim,” he murmured, voice full of guilt and shame. “Elim, I am so _sorry-_ ”

Elim chuckled. “Sorry? For what?”

“For nearly kissing your partner? For flirting with them? Don’t tell me you actually believed my panicked rambling about _reading_ -”

“No, no - that was a _terrible_ lie.” Elim smiled a little at Julian’s stricken expression. “What I meant was _why_ are you apologizing for flirting when we agreed on an open enjoinment?”

“I- well- when we agreed to it, I didn’t think it included dating Kelas. I didn’t think it included nearly kissing someone you were involved with.”

Elim considered for a moment. “I had perhaps not considered the possibility. But I’m not angry - far from it.”

“You’re not?” Now Julian looked confused. “But- but Kelas is _your_ partner.”

“And Kelas would very much like to be _your_ partner too.” Elim smiled warmly at him. “We’d both very much like to be your partners. A triad.”

The surprise on Julian’s face nearly made him laugh properly. The young man opened and closed his mouth, clearly trying to figure out what to say, before just about managing:

“Oh.”

Feeling just a little bit of sympathy towards the other man, Elim touched his elbow. “Will you come back into the reading room?” he asked. “Let us discuss this properly.”

When they returned, Kelas had moved from one of the armchairs to the settee, and was settled into one of its corners. They smiled as they approached, and patted the space next to them.

“Julian,” Kelas said. “come sit by me.”

“Am I not invited?” Elim groused, and Kelas sent him an amused look.

“I know full well you find this settee too small for the both of us. Julian is smaller, and he’ll fit nicely.”

Julian blushed, but obediently dropped to sit beside Kelas, even leaning in when Kelas’ arm came around his shoulders and their tail curled around his hip, tugging him closer to Kelas’ plush side. The scent that had been so distracting earlier was still as distracting, but also comforting, and now Julian wasn’t on edge from trying to hide his arousal, he let himself sink into it and relax, and watched as Elim pulled a chair across and sat nearby.

“So…” Julian said, after a moment of silence. “You’re both interested in me? Truly?”

“Truly,” Kelas murmured. “You’re an attractive man, Julian.”

Julian ducked his head, trying not to blush and failing miserably. “How long?”

“For me?” Kelas thought for a moment. “It was probably when you jumped in the bath like it was the last body of water in the quadrant.”

Julian laughed. “Really?”

“Your little swimsuit clung to _everything_.”

“You always were a lecherous old thing, my dear.” Elim smiled innocently across at them both, and Julian didn’t even have to look to know that Kelas was glaring.

“What about you, hmm?” he murmured, prodding Elim with a bare toe. “When did you realise?”

“Oh, I couldn’t pinpoint a date.” Elim said lightly, and Kelas scoffed.

“He admired you the moment he set eyes on you.” they whispered in Julian’s ear, and Julian grinned at the flush that darkened Elim’s cheek scales.

“Not the _first_ time.”

“Oh, I’m _sorry._ Was it before or after you came running to me because your new spouse was young and attractive?”

“Hush, Kelas.” Elim looked haughty, but Kelas was giggling, and Julian couldn’t help but laugh too. “And you, Julian? When did you know?”

“I suppose for me,” Julian mused. “It was one of those times we sat in the solarium, discussing politics. You both flirted horrendously with each other. I wanted so _badly_ to be a part of that, be with you both.”

Kelas sighed, and hooked one of Julian’s curls with a fingertip. “If only we’d _known…_ ”

“We weren’t very good at communicating, and I didn’t want to get between you.” Julian replied. “And I didn’t know what kind of situation that would create with the Castellan if he were to find out.”

The mere mention of Tain put a damper on any ardour that had developed that afternoon. Kelas and Elim exchanged looks, both knowing _exactly_ what Castellan Tain would think of it.

“We won’t be able to be open about it.” Elim murmured into the silence. “And there are several reasons why we shouldn’t. With what I do, what I have done, what Father would do should he find out…”

“I know.” Julian paused. “So what should we do?”

There was a pause, before Kelas said softly; “I think you should kiss me, before Elim walks us all round in circular arguments trying to convince us to leave him.”


	23. Chapter 23

Kissing Kelas was perhaps one of the most pleasant experiences Julian had encountered on Cardassia. Whilst his kisses with Elim had been nice, they had been… tentative, on account of them being relative strangers when they kissed. Kelas kissed him with a surprising amount of confidence, and their taste was intoxicating - warm, comforting, slightly floral, deeply addictive. And Kelas was not afraid of putting their hands wherever they fancied it - in his hair, on his shoulders, down on his chest, down, _down_ … 

“You know, Kelas,” Elim remarked, as Kelas’ hands dipped into decidedly more frisky areas. “Anyone can walk in here. If you're looking to get caught…” 

Kelas broke the kiss for a moment. “You can, of course, lock the door for us, dear.” 

“You could also move to our bedroom, down the hall - it has a perfectly serviceable bed.”

“Hmm. No.” And with that, Kelas began kissing Julian again. Julian contemplated protesting too, but Kelas was quite the persuasive kisser, and after Kelas' hand slipped into his breeches, he suddenly found himself unable to think of anything much. Faintly, he could hear Elim laugh, and move around the room, moving Kelas’ materials and locking the door to the reading room. When he passed back by Julian and Kelas, Julian broke the kiss to lead back and smile at Elim. 

“Do I get a kiss from you too?” 

Far from the fairly staid kisses Julian had received from Elim on their wedding night, this kiss was warm and generous, and Julian was left with no doubt of Elim's desire. After two or three kisses, Kelas beckoned Elim over to kiss them too, which Elim happily complied with - it was clear who would be in charge in this relationship. 

“Go sit down, _ðürha_ ,” Kelas murmured. “I'd like to have some… _fun_ with your spouse.”

“Am I not invited?” Elim dropped into the chair beside them. Kelas gave him a slight smile. 

“You can _watch._ Maybe join us later.” Kelas turned to Julian, thumbing his bottom lip. “For now, I'd like to see what you got to enjoy when you were enjoined. What do you think, Julian?” 

“I'm all yours.” Julian perhaps did not intend to sound so breathless, but his obvious arousal clearly pleased Kelas, whose aroused flush only darkened at his words. They kissed again, hot, heavy, before Kelas began to move from his mouth, down his neck. Julian sighed in pleasure, and heard a similar sound from Elim in his chair - through half lidded eyes, he could just about see Elim's hand slip down under his kaftan. Kelas’ hands wandered across Julian's chest, to his nipples, already sensitive and pebbled, then down his navel and back into his breeches. Julian parted his legs so that Kelas had full access, and groaned when Kelas’ fingers found his hardened cock, already aching for touch. 

“Take your breeches off, Julian.” Kelas rasped, accent thickened by arousal. “ _Süðn-arhüënnech-sema-nëäü jrhelmg-nëäü nÿrhng-tsÿëma-amelle-_ ”

Needing no encouragement, Julian stripped off his breeches, and Kelas’ hand slid straight back up to his warmth, and began rubbing eagerly at Julian’s wet lips and heat. They parted their middle and first fingers, so that Julian’s cock slid straight between their fingers with every thrust, making Julian groan. Julian’s orgasm had been building for a while, and it wasn’t long until Julian was frantically twitching his hips, trying to move faster, get more friction, more pleasure. Kelas guided Julian for an open-mouthed kiss, smiling, slightly changing their hand position so the tip of their hand-claw grazed the base of Julian’s cock. It only took three thrusts from then for Julian to tumble over the edge, crying out, orgasming hard, eyes shut and rutting frantically against Kelas’ palm. The ejaculate that dribbled from Julian’s vulva coated Kelas’ fingers and wrist, and Julian watched with hazy eyes as Kelas lifted their hand and licked it clean.

“I promise I'm not that fast all the time.” Julian said after a little while, coming down from his high. Kelas laughed, and pressed a kiss to his lips. 

“It makes a difference to Elim. _He_ always makes his pleasure into a fight.” 

“You'd get bored if I didn't.” Elim murmured. His voice was slightly strained, and with a look, Julian could see Elim's hand still moving gently beneath his clothes against his slit. 

“I bet the both of us could make him peak without fuss.” Julian murmured, looking back towards Kelas. “I'd like to make you orgasm too. How can I please you?”

Instead of responding, Kelas kissed him again, and pushed him to where they wanted him to be - on the floor, between their legs. As Julian began to kiss and lick up Kelas’ calf and thigh, Kelas beckoned Elim over to the space Julian had just vacated. Elim was now at least partially everted, his _phmūäð_ bobbing a little as he settled under Kelas’ arm, and Julian was almost entranced by it, the thought of licking and tasting it flooding his nether regions with heat and desire-

“ _Na-ðanş-za ða-tsäëma charhrhef, Jülëän_.” Kelas murmured, and even in the different language Julian understood the command - _don't be tempted_. He pressed an apologetic kiss to Kelas' knee, before pressing his kisses deeper towards Kelas’ warmth. The doctor sighed as Julian parted their legs, and they shifted a little to give Julian better access. Their small _mëūë_ was already everted, and Julian kissed that first, smiling at the shiver it provoked, before kissing down it's tiny ridge to the seam, the _sūl,_ and pressing his tongue deep into the _chlūäch_ behind it. Kelas’ groan reverberated across his tongue, and he smiled, before proceeding to thoroughly lick and taste Kelas’ heat, loving how their taste - homely, musky, somewhat floral - burst on his tongue with every drop. 

As he pressed kisses back up Kelas’ slick _mëūë,_ Julian chanced a glance upwards, and saw the pleasure he was creating. Kelas was lounging, relaxed, murmuring heated words in their native Cheða between the nipping, biting kisses Elim bestowed on them. Elim's hand was fisted around their weeping _phmüäð,_ and Julian knew he would not last much longer. He dipped his head back between Kelas’ thighs, and felt Kelas’ hand slid into his hair, allowing them the leverage of where they wanted their pleasure. Kelas kept his face pressed to their dripping _chlūäch,_ moaning whenever Julian's tongue breached their _sūl._ It did not take long for Kelas to start rutting against their face, desperate to orgasm, and Julian ate them out for all their worth, until with a cry, Kelas came hard, and their cum spurted across Julian's tongue and mouth. Julian rested his cheek against Kelas’ thigh, smiling as Kelas tried to catch their breath, and watching Elim jerk a few more stuttering thrusts until he came too, across both his stomach and Kelas’ thighs. Julian shut his eyes, satiated and full of affection for his two Cardassians. 

“Falling asleep, Julian?” Kelas asked, and Julian cracked one eye open to look at them. 

“You've both worn me out!” he laughed. “I think maybe we should make use of that ‘perfectly serviceable’ bed in our rooms.” 

“It's a touch late for that.” Elim groused, but with a few encouraging kisses, the three of them unfolded from the settee, collected their clothing, and left the reading room for softer surfaces. 

BREAK

The first time Julian awoke, it was to darkness. The light of the three moons was just about visible through the curtains, but the room itself was the kind of warm, comforting dark that encouraged sleep. He was still in his shirt from the day before,which had become cozy, in the way well-loved shirts always did. Julian could just about hear the soft snoring of his bedmates - Elim, whose chest was acting as his pillow, and Kelas, who was pressed warmly up against his back. He realised that even with their love making, Kelas had not removed his shirt and seen the sorcery scar. He'd have to do something about that… but for now, he lay there for a few moments, simply breathing and enjoying his company, before he snuggled back into the bed and fell asleep once more.

The second time he awoke, it was to the shifting of the bed. His back was unusually cold, and only one set of arms was around his waist - which was something very disappointing to wake up to. He turned over to investigate - Kelas sat on the edge of the bed, and was carefully stretching out their joints, already dressed in their ordinary clothes. Julian guessed that it must be time for them to return to their quarters, lest the Castellan guess where they’ve been all night. As they turned to pick up their walking stick, Julian reached out and touched their arm.

“Leaving so soon?” Julian asked, and Kelas smiled.

“Best not rouse the Castellan’s suspicions.” they replied, and leant forward to press a kiss to Julian’s lips. “I’ll see you later.”

Julian pouted, and pulled them down for more kisses, because really one wasn’t enough. After five or ten, Kelas finally pulled back, and pushed him back into the pillows with a smile. They picked up their walking stick, rose, and Julian watched as they moved around the bed to press a kiss to Elim’s forehead, before slipping out the door with no more than a creak of the floorboards. Julian sighed, before curling back into Elim’s side, tucking the extra duvet around his body to conserve Kelas’ body heat. As if aware that Julian now had one less body to cuddle with, Elim snuffed in his sleep and rolled over to spoon him, pulling himself flush to Julian’s body and pressing his belly into the curve of Julian’s spine, tail curling up between their legs. Julian laughed a little, before patting Elim’s arm and shutting his eyes, drifting off again within a few moments.

The third time he awoke, it was to Elim pressing kisses down his neck. 

“Good morning,” Julian yawned, and turned over so he was face to face with his smug bed partner.

“It _is_ a good morning.” He cuddled closer, one leg thrown over Julian’s thigh, and Julian could feel the aroused wetness of Elim’s _chlūäch_ on his skin. 

“Someone’s _frisky_ today.”

Elim looked fairly smug. “It’s not all the time I get to share my bed with _two_ attractive people.” 

Julian laughed. “You’re spoilt for choice. Shall we call Kelas so we can sort you out?” 

“Kelas will undoubtedly be working,” Elim replied. “But Kelas and I have shared many pleasures. You and I, however, have a _lot_ of catching up to do.”

Julian laughed, and pulled Elim into a warm, deep kiss, his hands automatically mapping Elim’s body. His mouth tasted of morning, of musk and salt and warmth, and his scales were pliable under Julian’s fingers. Julian had learnt much since their wedding night - reading books on Cardassian anatomy from Kelas’ private library had been a great help, even when it earned Kelas’ teasing for reading ‘salacious texts’ out on the lab table. As they kissed, he let his hands brush where he knew there were erogenous areas - the _chula_ first, then the neck ridges, which he tapped across until he found the most sensitive one. Elim openly gasped when he pinched it, then tipped his head back and groaned when Julian began massaging it in earnest. 

“ _Fates,_ Julian…” he murmured, and Julian felt a rush of pleasure shoot into his groin at Elim’s heated voice. He pressed a kiss to the underside of Elim’s jaw, before using Elim’s momentary distraction to push him onto his back. He quickly straddled Elim’s waist, feeling his rounded belly press into his groin quite pleasurably. He bent his head to Elim’s neck ridge, blackened and swollen from arousal, and started kissing up it, letting just the barest hint of teeth brush each one. He felt rather than heard Elim’s groans of pleasure, and smiled with each one as he moved up the ridge. He reached the most sensitive scale, but instead of kissing it, he nipped it - once, twice, then bit down and worried it with his teeth. Had Julian not been straddling him, Julian was certain Elim would’ve arched right up and off the bed. Instead, Elim tried to arch, found he couldn’t, and instead wriggled in frustration beneath him. 

“Julian-!” 

“Yes, dear?” Julian asked innocently, lifting his head to smile sweetly at the clearly aroused Cardassian beneath him. 

“ _You_ are a _tease._ ” Elim growled, a hiss catching on the final word. 

“I’ve been told that’s one of my finer attributes.” With that, Julian proceeded to dip his head and give the other neck ridge the same treatment. By the time he was done, Elim was practically thrumming with arousal, and Julian could feel the heat pooling in his own groin. He leant up, and kissed Elim again, open-mouthed and all tongue, but Elim did not let him linger there for long. His hands came to rest on Julian’s hips, and with a sharp push he managed to dislodge Julian, and push him closer to the area he wanted him to touch. 

“You’re impatient.” Julian snorted, and Elim gave him an enigmatic grin. 

“Perhaps.” 

Julian bent down and pressed a kiss to Elim’s tummy, nipping at the edge of his belly button, before moving down to his _chuva_ and pressing his tongue inside the sensitive depression. He felt the vibration of Elim’s moan rumble through the nerve endings of his tongue, and he couldn’t help but gasp in response. He spent some time there, kissing and nibbling the outer rim, before moving to Elim’s _chlūäch,_ which was already gaping from arousal. The head of Elim’s _phmūäð_ peekedout from the genital slit and Julian made a beeline for it, popping it neatly into his mouth. It was already wet with lubricant, and its salty tang struck Julian as he let his lips rub over the sensitive flesh, letting it slip out of his mouth before taking it back in again. Elim’s arousal now manifested in a deep thrumming hiss as Julian worked the head of his length, and it wasn’t long before his hissing stuttered, and he everted fully into Julian’s waiting mouth. 

This was all Julian had fantasized about, and _more._ He bobbed his head, tasting the full length of Elim’s _phmūäð_ , spreading his legs open to have more access to the plush warmth. Elim was babbling in Kardasi, and Julian couldn’t quite catch the words but he moaned in response anyway, building up a rhythm on Elim’s hardness. At the base of it, Julian found a small frill of raised scale, and even a brush of lip made Elim buck into his mouth. On his next downward push, he took Elim deeper down his throat, and on the way back up he brushed the frill with the very tip of his teeth. 

“I _swear_ , if you _bite-_ ” Elim cut off his own complaint as Julian did the movement again, and again, his teeth just barely grazing the sensitive frill. Elim whined and keened at the sensation, and Julian could feel his impending orgasm. A hand dipped roughly into his hair, holding him down on Elim’s _phmūäð_ as Elim ground that sensitive frill into his mouth. Julian groaned around his mouthful, and pressed himself close until his nose was almost in Elim’s _chuva_ and his hardness down the back of his throat. With a few stuttered grinds, Elim pulled Julian’s face back a little, and orgasmed with a deep resonant groan, his cum splattering Julian’s mouth and dripping down his swollen lips. 

The heaving of Elim’s chest pressed against Julian’s body as he wound himself up and around Elim, smiling. Elim blinked at him, a little bleary, but leant forward and kissed him anyway. These kisses were lazy and sloppy, and the taste of Elim’s ejaculate mingled between their lips and on their tongues. They kissed in the late morning light, warm and soft, until Julian felt Elim’s _phmūäð_ slide up his leg and back into its hiding spot. Only then did Elim break free from his lips, eyeing him hungrily. 

“Now,” he said, sliding his own thigh up to rub at Julian’s crotch. “What should I do with you?” 

Julian grinned, and wiggled against Elim’s thigh, making certain his wetness was fully apparent to his partner. Elim smiled at the very obvious flaunting of his arousal, and leant in to kiss him again. Julian could feel the heat of Elim’s hands skating across his most sensitive areas, and groaned, trying to wriggle out of his shirt to allow Elim access to more of him. This movement seemed to please the Cardassian, and Julian found the shirt unceremoniously pulled off of his body and tossed across the room, before Elim began kissing and biting across his shoulders and neck. 

“I’m close,” he murmured, and Elim hummed against his neck. “But I want to be _inside_ you- do you-”

Elim's kiss was rough but full of desire - despite having just orgasmed, Elim was clearly interested in having someone inside. His hand came up from Julian's hip to pat around his bedside table, before he withdrew a small phallic item, made of some kind of tooth or antler, ivory on the long end, but with a gilded golden handle for the partner's insertion. It took a few moments for Julian to apply lube and insert the end - the handle was narrow and short enough not to trigger his dysphoria, but enough of a size for Julian to feel comfortable it wasn't about to slip out. once it was in place, Elim pulled him down for a kiss, biting and nipping his tongue and lips as he lined himself up. 

By the time Julian had prepared himself, Elim's _phmūäð_ had retracted into its cubbyhole, and the membranes between it and Julian's strap-on meant it was a hiss of desire that escaped Elim's mouth as Julian pressed in. Julian moaned as the handle pressed at the sensitive spots inside him, and he began a rocking motion, letting the handle press in all the right places. His cock rubbed against the dildo with each thrust, and given his prior arousal, it didn't take long for Julian to feel his orgasm nearing. He began to thrust in earnest into Elim's plush arse, feeling Elim brush his hands in all his sensitive spots, letting Kardasi expletives and encouragements slide into Julian's ear, pulling him deeper and faster, until Julian stiffened, and came with a cry. His warmth spasmed around the handle of the dildo with pleasure, and Julian could not help but pant heavily at the glorious throbs of pleasure emanating in his groin. He shuddered through the last of his pleasure, before pulling the toy out, and dropping and rolling into Elim’s side.

“Did we have to take so long to get together?” Julian muttered, and Elim laughed.

“I knew you only want to date Kelas and I for our sexual prowess.” Elim replied mock-haughtily. Julian pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“And you two only took me in for my body warmth.” Julian smiled. “A partnership of convenience.”

“It’s a very nice convenience.” Elim turned to properly kiss him. “Are you ready to get up and face the day?”

“Hmm. No.” Julian pressed one last kiss to Elim’s lips, before pulling up the duvet and burying himself in it. “Can we sleep in today? Stay late, invite Kelas in for a break...”

“You are _insatiable._ ” But Elim joined him under the duvet, and pulled him close to cuddle. “An hour wouldn’t hurt, I suppose…”

Julian grinned, and settled happily back into the bed, ready for more sleep and more pleasure later.


	24. Chapter 24

Julian spent the next week floating on clouds. He felt like he was living in a dream, or at least a fantasy. To be able to meander between Elim and Kelas as he pleased, and then spend his nights in blissful abandon with both of them. Although, he realized as he was feeding the riding hounds, ensuring that both of his lovers received equal attention was going to be difficult. He upended the bucket to dislodge the smallest pieces of meat, and placed a worried hand on his chest. He had not yet removed his shirt in front of Kelas. If Kelas saw the scar… with their medical training, Kelas would recognise it immediately. He hated it, hated having to keep this secret from a person he felt so close to. 

_Maybe I should just tell them both_ , Julian thought. _They’ve trusted me with so much..._

Just as he seemed ready to make up his mind, a servant appeared in his peripheral vision, bowing. “The Castellan would like to see you in his office, Mister Bashir. As soon as is practical.” 

The dream ended, and Julian crashed back down through the clouds. He packed up his things, petted the hounds, and soon found himself facing the attic staircase once again.

“Ah Julian, come inside.” 

The room was softly lit through the large round window at one end, but to Julian, it felt like the coldest room in all of Cardassia. He was fairly sure it was the effect its primary occupant tended to have on people, or perhaps there was a magical effect sapping the heat from this location. Tain sat at his desk in the corner, and Julian bowed in greeting. 

“Castellan. You wanted to see me?” 

“Yes. You see, I would like some information from you.”

Tain looked nothing but affable, but Julian still felt a cold, slimy feeling creep down his spine. He sat down on the chair, legs on autopilot, and stared across at the other man, hands tight and fisted around the edge of his seat. Tain smiled at him, toad-like. 

“Now,” he said, like a patient father. “I know that the staff here consider you a friend. Or an acquaintance, at least.” 

“I treat them kindly, if that’s what you mean.” Julian replied. “I wouldn’t say we’re _friends._ ”

“You are closer to them than many of my other operatives. But it is of no matter - you are, however, very close to Doctor Parmak. Tell me, what do you think of them?”

Julian thought for a moment. “They’re fantastic. A first-rate mind, an excellent physician, kind, sensitive… I don’t think I could say a bad word about them.”

“You consider them a good friend?”

“Of course.” 

Tain ‘hmmed’, and reached for a small crystal on the side of his desk. “And what would you say their relationship with my son is like?” 

Julian’s fists clenched. _Easy now, you can cover for them…_ “They’re good friends too. They’ve known each other for a long time.” 

“And you don’t think they’re something… more?”

Julian flushed at the implication. “No. Elim is… Elim is faithful. When he’s not engaged with business, he’s with me in the reading room or in the garden, and Doctor Parmak tends to only accompany us if I’m there.”

“And at night?” 

“He sleeps with me. I’m a light sleeper - I’d know if he left.” 

Tain’s eyes flickered to the crystal in his hand, but then moved back to Julian’s with affable grace. “Thank you,” he murmured, and set the crystal aside. “You see, I’ve become concerned that Doctor Parmak had become a sympathizer of the rebel cause.”

 _They’re more than that,_ Julian thought, but did not voice the thought. “And you think they may have become… involved with Elim?”

“Lust can make a man do funny things. Such as support causes that he very much shouldn’t.”

“Well, if they are holding dissident thoughts, they haven’t told me about them. They seem perfectly ordinary Cardassians to me.”

Tain’s eyes widened for a brief second, before slipping to amusement. “Nevertheless, I know there are dissidents under this roof.”

Julian tilted his head in mock curiosity. “I’ve not noticed anything out of the ordinary.”

“They’ve been here since before you arrived, which is why you are someone I can… entrust this information to.”

“Go on.” 

“More of our slaves are joining the rebel cells every week, and now even our paid staff are leaving. Sokoa, our seneschal, left only last night.”

 _Good for her,_ Julian thought, and he nearly smiled. 

“I had imagined this… _spat_ would die down. Now, it seems it is growing. I need someone to… cut it down to size.”

Julian felt the bottom of his stomach fall out. “You mean me.” 

Tain’s smile was sickly. “I run a… small organization. An Order, if you will. We keep the peace, but so far we haven’t succeeded in penetrating the rebel cause. With your links with my serving class, you are in a prime position to do so.”

No, no, no, no, no, this was _not_ happening. “I-I don’t know, I’m not- not _certain_ I’d be a good match.” He indicated to his body with a forced laugh. “I’m not exactly inconspicuous.”

“Oh, but your skills in other areas more than balance out that little problem.” Tain gave him a beady look. “You’re a _sorcerer.”_

Julianwent cold. “I- I’m not-”

“I already know, there is no point in denying it.” Tain leant forward onto the desk. “You have sorcery. Unlimited, unparalleled levels of magic, more than the paltry amount offered to my God-fearing operatives. Tell me, why would I not want that _power_ in the Obsidian Order?”

And there it was. It was like the curtains fell down from his eyes, and Julian was staring into the deep, rotten soul of Cardassia, lovingly curated by Enabran Tain. The core of Tain’s power, that enticed and groomed a naive boy from the Federation into the heart of Cardassian politics, that tore Elim away from Kelas with no concern for the harm and heartbreak caused, the core that saw Bajoran slavery as acceptable and necessary to the function to the Union.

What had he done?

“I want to speak to Elim before I agree to anything.” he said, scrabbling for time to think. “I want to know what I’m getting into.” 

“And you don’t trust me to tell you?” 

Julian smiled a little. “You want me to join - it’s likely you’ve glossed over the nastier details. I know Elim’s an operative - I want to hear from him before I agree.” 

Tain seemed a little irritated at his reticence, but he sighed and swept an arm towards the door. 

“If you wish. Come back to me with your answer tomorrow. Go.”

“Thank you.”

And with a quick, jerky nod, Julian all but upped and fled the room in a blind panic. 

BREAK

When Julian burst into the upstairs reading room, he felt as though his heart might leap out of his mouth. Elim and Kelas looked up in surprise, setting down the tea they were drinking “Thank- the fates you’re both here.” Julian managed to breathe out. 

“Whatever is the matter, my dear?” Elim asked, stepping around the table to come to his side. 

Julian took a deep breath and let it out slowly, willing himself to be calm. “The Castellan. He knows. He knows about me. I don’t know how he found out, I’ve been very careful, but-”

Now, it was Kelas’ turn to be concerned, as they lead Julian to sit down and placed a warm hand on his back. “Do you mean he found out about your gender?”

Julian sighed and shook his head. Elim sat down on the other side of him, and he found himself looking between both of them, unsure of how to begin. He loved them both dearly, but that old fear swum up to the surface again - that as soon as they found out the truth about him, they’d want nothing to do with him. He had never told anyone about this, after all. This was a secret even he wasn’t privy to for at least a decade, and now…

“Elim, do you remember… on our wedding night, I told you I had a scar? From when I was a child?” 

“Yes, of course, but what does that have to do with-”

Julian’s hands moved to the buttons on his tunic, and began to undo them one by one, until it hung open. There, over his sternum, was the stark white branching scar, the only visual marker of the power he held within himself. Seeing this, Kelas swore softly in their native tongue. 

“I… I was only six. I don’t remember very much of it.” Julian explained, as if trying to justify himself. 

Beside him, Elim frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. “Will some please explain to me what all of this means?”

Kelas sighed and started buttoning up Julian’s tunic, and for a split second Julian was back at home, watching his mother did up the laces on his dress, _we mustn’t show anyone, Julia, understand?_

“He’s a sorcerer, Elim.” Kelas said, and their voice was tired, as if they could already imagine the implications of this new information. “He has power, immense power, living inside him. It’s not like my magic, it’s… the raw will of the universe.” 

Julian looked at Elim, a sad smile on his face. “My parents… took me to see a man. I wasn’t doing well with my tutors, I was weak and sickly, and… when it was over, I was - something else.” 

Elim looked concerned, and quite a bit frightened. Kelas offered their half-drunk tea to Julian, who accepted it eagerly, letting the warm drink soothe his nerves. He had never expected to tell anyone about this. If it were up to him, he would take the secret to his grave, albeit an early one if the statistics on sorcery were correct. 

“My father wants to use you.” Elim murmured, and his voice was sorrowful. “He wants you as a weapon.” 

“And he's been testing me. All those favours - I had to use sorcery in every one, he was seeing what I could do.” 

“You did those unknowingly, though. He can't force you-” 

“He won't need to.” Kelas added. “He won't hesitate to do whatever it takes to make you use it. Perhaps not force, but blackmail or threats - harming your friends, killing me-” 

And inside, Julian knew that full well. Julian knew the things he’d done to hide his sorcery, and the things he’d done to protect others like him. For all his good heart was worth, it would be flayed apart among the web of Tain and his Obsidian Order. Kelas, Elim, Ziyal, Ezri, Sokoa… no-one would be safe. And with him in his snare, Tain would have everything he ever wished - the rebellion would face an unimaginable foe, and the Great Houses would know exactly who was in charge. Fall in line, or face the wrath of Tain’s pet sorcerer. Julian felt sick to his stomach.

“I won't let that happen.” Julian shook his head. “We need to- to _escape_ or something. I can't have either of you hurt, or anyone else-”

“We'll leave,” Kelas lay one hand on Julian's arm. “I don't know where we'll go, but we'll keep you safe.” 

Elim nodded too. “I have a plan. Julian. Contact Ro and Kira, tell them to get their people ready. Kelas, you will meet with my sister and her wife.”

"What will you do, Elim?"

Elim stood up straight, face a perfect storm. "I'm going to pay a visit to our dear Castellan."


	25. Chapter 25

Elim briefly paused in front of the staircase leading to the attic, tail twitching in a telltale sign of the anger coursing through his body. When he was younger, it used to terrify him to be called up to his father’s study; every step felt like a death sentence. He always seemed to leave the study with chastising words or a punishment to carry out on himself. Even when emergent, he could never climb the stairs without a slight shudder.

But he was not a boy anymore, and he would not be intimidated. He scaled the steps two at a time. 

Enabran Tain’s study and bedroom took up the entire fourth floor of the building, its large stained glass window providing an easy viewing post from which to survey the estate. It looked out directly over the front courtyard, an excellent way to see your enemies coming, provided they were stupid enough to approach from that direction. Tain stood in front of the window now, hands folded behind his back, and Elim had no doubt whatsoever that his father heard him come up the stairs, though he did not turn around. With deliberate movements, he walked over to the desk and turned off the radio that had been listing off the day’s news in monotone.

“I gather you have something to say to me, Elim.” 

“I know. About Julian.”

“What do you think you know?”

“I know he has magic. The… _other_ kind of magic. Sorcery.”

Tain chuckled to himself. “I honestly expected you to figure it out sooner. Looks like sentiment has clouded your judgment again.”

“I assume that was your entire reason for staging this ridiculous charade of an Enjoinment?”

“Right again. I had learned of a Federation man who had paid considerable money to have his child undergo the procedure, and miraculously, the child survived. As you know, most people who have this done to them end up dead, or imbeciles.”

“How? I doubt they would be broadcasting the fact that their child was a sorcerer.”

“They did not. But we found a sorcerer, who admitted there was one.” Tain gave him a sickly smile. “ _You_ engineered his kidnap, don’t you remember?”

Elim ran through his memories, but he couldn’t pick out one target that looked remotely sorcerer-like. He had kidnapped many people, but Elim was certain he’d remember a _sorcerer..._ Had he forgotten? Or was his father trying to blame him for something he couldn’t remember?

“So… all this… was just so you could get your hands on his powers?” His voice hitched slightly despite his efforts to control himself. How many people had gotten hurt, just so his father could put another card into his hand? How many people had he _himself_ harmed for the cause?

“ _Fates_ , Elim.” Tain scoffed. “As if I gave a damn about your little fling with that _sark_. It was simply a... fortunate side effect.” 

He felt his heart sink into his stomach. Tain continued, “I knew he would be an asset and an enjoinment was the easiest way to bring him to Cardassia without tipping anyone off about his actual value.”

Elim closed his fist tightly, feeling the anger course through his veins like an icy wire. He lowered his head, could not bring himself to look at Tain’s smug face right now. In fact, Enabran Tain looked perfectly calm, as if he could not even imagine a world where he might not be right all of the time. 

“An asset…” Elim said quietly after a few moments have passed. He looked up, and let out a derisive laugh, barely an exhale. “Tell me. Was Ziyal an _asset_ too?” His voice held no mirth in it. 

Tain walked to his desk, and picked up a framed photo - a formal portrait taken some twenty years ago, a few months before Ziyal’s mother Dejal’s death. Around the time when needing to pretend to be a normal family was beginning to lose its appeal for the Castellan. Elim scoffed whenever he saw these kinds of pictures around the estate, and not just because he was never included in any of them. 

“Your sister was... a necessary sacrifice.” He moved the photo across the table, as if moving a chess piece. “Had Bajor not accepted the offer on the keeping of their people-”

“Their _enslavement._ ”

“-then our society would have fallen far earlier.”

“As if it’s not falling _now._ ” Elim turned towards the window. “Look out there. No-go zones. Protests. Riots. Isn’t it time to admit perhaps we were _wrong?_ ”

“I never pegged you for a sympathizer.” Elim heard Tain move away from the desk. “What happened to your orders? I told you to-”

“-stop our family from defecting? You were too _late._ I’d even say you _knew_ you were too late.”

There was a moment of tense silence, before Elim felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, roughly pulling him around to face his father.

“I had expected my _son_ to have done all he could to succeed.” Tain growled, and despite his anger Elim felt a familiar twinge of guilt. “You have been overcome by sentiment. You have allowed the beliefs of your two partners to impair your ability to carry out your duty.”

Elim felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. “I don’t have _two-_ ” 

“Don’t lie to me.” Tain dropped his hand, and walked back to his desk. “You were not as _discreet_ as you thought.

Elim watched as his father shuffled papers around on his desk, before pulling out and showing him a small quartz crystal. Elim recognized it immediately, and felt his blood run cold.

“Do you recognise this, Elim?” Tain asked, smiling all the while.

“An essenscor,” he replied quietly. “Detects sexual essences, left by romantic partners.”

“Correct. I had only used it once before, to assure myself that you had consummated your marriage.” Tain strolled back to Elim, holding the quartz almost casually in his hand. “But certain… developments encouraged me to use it again on Julian. Imagine my _surprise_ when I found not only your essence, but also that of Doctor Parmak.”

Elim closed his eyes, and said nothing. His tail twitched with repressed anxiety, but there was nothing Elim could say to get himself out of this one. He didn’t even flinch when he felt the cold edge of the quartz trace his jaw, the sparking enchantment almost freezing his skin.

“You didn’t just disobey my orders,” Tain murmured, and his voice was steel. “You indulged your lust, and I have no doubt this led to your sympathies towards slaves and the rebels - the _worst_ in our society. You corrupted my prize, allowing him to fraternize with a _commoner,_ just like you let your sister be corrupted by her Federation wife. You let sentiment rule your heart. You _failed_ me as a son.”

And that _hurt._ Elim felt as if he was seven years old again, face to face with the cupboard he’d be locked in because his school marks weren’t what Tain wanted. Despite his anger at Tain’s grooming of Julian, about his complicity in the Bajoran crisis, about every manipulation he had inflicted on those Elim cared about, Elim still felt guilty about disobeying him. His heart ached with the need to be recognised as Tain’s son, as a _good_ son - but it also ached knowing what his need had cost. The imprisonment of hundreds on thousands of Bajorans. The grooming of an innocent man. The destruction of the protestors trying to change society. And Tain picked up on this inner conflict, and dropped the crystal, replacing it with a hand to his shoulder once more, this time gentle.

“I have no interest in killing you.” Tain murmured, and Elim almost believed him. “But I want my investment _back._ I want _you_ to prove that you will not disobey me again.”

“What will you have me do?” Elim asked, his voice flat and emotionless.

“Two things. I want to you to end any relationship you and Julian have with Dr Parmak.”

Elim’s heart tore a little more. “And the second requirement?”

Tain paused for a moment. “Just before you arrived, I had my guards take a subject into the interrogation chambers. I want you to find out all that they know, and to ensure they do not cross Cardassia again.”

Nausea roiled in Elim’s stomach at the thought of causing more hurt and pain to anyone else, but what choice did he have? Tain patted his shoulder, and as if on instinct, Elim pulled away, and walked straight out of the office. 

BREAK

Ever since the accident that left him half dead on Kelas’ table, Pythas had been given a promotion, of sorts. He now managed operatives, organized interrogations and otherwise pulled at the strings of the Obsidian Order’s web. It suited him, Elim thought, being in the shadows - while his scarring made him too distinctive for spy work, it gave the perfect, slightly creepy vibe for sitting in the shadows handing out orders. 

“What’s the situation?” Elim asked him. Pythas sorted through the files on his desk, looking for one in particular.

“A suspected political dissident.” Pythas added as he searched. “Tain wants them kept alive, but thoroughly questioned. All tools will be at your disposal.”

 _All_ tools? Elim shuddered a little. Tain must’ve caught someone important to let him loose on the instrument cupboard.

“I won’t use any.” he replied. “Not at first. See what I can glean from them.” 

“Alright.” 

He waited, watching Pythas shuffle his papers until he produced a thin folder, brown and undecorated. But instead of handing it over, Pythas hesitated, looking down at the folder with… concern? 

“Elim…”

Pythas never used his first name if he could help it. Elim frowned, a slight feeling of dread curling in the pit of his stomach. 

“What is it?” 

“I… I’d like you to think carefully about taking this interrogation.” Pythas’ voice was careful, and quiet, as if this offer was not meant for ears other than his own. 

“I’m not certain I understand.” Elim murmured in reply. “I’ve not passed on an interrogation before - Father never allows anyone to.” 

“I’m… willing to pull a few strings. Just think before taking this.”

The feeling of dread twisted and knotted his inside. “Why? What’s so bad about this one?” 

“You know the subject.” 

“We all have to interrogate people we know-”

“Not like _this._ ” A hiss caught the end of Pythas’ sentence. “Not someone _close_.” 

“Close?” Now Elim was more worried. “Pythas, there is no-one I am _close_ to-”

“That’s a lie.” Now Pythas just looked frustrated. “You may be a spy, Elim, but you are not one of the best. I _was_ one ofthe best. And I am telling you to _reconsider_.”

There was something about Pythas’ demeanour that was… off-putting. Pythas’ insistence on reconsidering made him worry - there was something about this subject that would bother him. It made him hesitate, made him wonder if he really should leave it to someone else. But his father’s words floated in the back of his head - if he wanted to retain his position, he had to do this. If he wanted to feed information to the rebellion, he had to do this. 

If he wanted to be a good son, he had to do this. 

“I’ll take it, Pythas,” he said, his voice sounding much more confident than he felt. “I have to do this. You know that.” 

Pythas sighed, disappointed. “Here’s the file. ” he said, handing it over. Elim took one look at the front of his file, and felt his veins turn ice cold. He now knew why Pythas had warned him. He now knew how cruel his father could be. 

The subject for interrogation was Doctor Kelas Parmak.


	26. Chapter 26

He stood in front of the door, steeling himself for what he was about to do. How many times had he come to this back room in the barracks, and it had just been work, it was what he had to do? It was… _necessary_. It unnerved him how that word always seemed to be said in his father’s voice.

He took a deep breath and stepped inside. The room was small, bare, and dark save for a single light that shone on the familiar form of Kelas Parmak, who jerked their head up at the sound of someone entering. They had been tied to a chair, but did not look seriously injured. 

"Elim? Is that you?" Kelas called into the darkness.

He did not reply. Instead, he pulled up another chair and placed it to face Kelas, taking his time sitting down. 

"I... I know you think you have to do this." Kelas said, looking away. Somehow, that made the situation even worse. Elim looked at them, looked at the curtain of hair that now obscured their face - the guards had untied all the braids, in order to make the hair a perfect way to pull someone around. Kelas would’ve never untie their braids willingly, Elim knew that, and he also knew that the idea of using that hair as leverage was absolutely repulsive. He didn’t move, didn’t say a word, and watched as Kelas’ tail flicked and swayed with anxiety.

“Say something.” Kelas’ voice was harsh in the silence of the room, and Elim nearly flinched. “Please, I… say something. Anything. I… I can’t _bear_ your silence.”

But what could Elim say? This was business. This was the business he’d been engaged with for most of his life. With anyone else, it would’ve been simple. But this was _Kelas,_ one of his loves, a kind, gentle man who wanted the best for Cardassia. Elim had convinced himself every interrogation that the subject deserved it, that their knowledge was necessary for the protection of Cardassia, but now he was face to face with evidence that somewhere along the line, the Order had gone horribly _wrong_. What danger did Kelas pose to the unity of Cardassia?

How many innocent subjects, others like Kelas, had Elim harmed?

“Elim…” Kelas’ voice wavered a little, and despite not being able to see their face, Elim knew they were crying. “Elim, I… I don’t know what you _want._ What have I _done?”_

 _Nothing_ , Elim thought frantically. _You did nothing!_ This was nothing to do with what Kelas had done, and everything to do with Elim and his father. Tain had chosen Kelas for interrogation purely to test Elim, to punish him for transgressing. It was cruel and unnecessary and Elim’s desire to placate his father was rapidly disintegrating. Who else had The Castellan targeted for his hand whose only crime was crossing him? This was not what Cardassia should’ve been - Cardassia did not benefit from his father’s personal vendetta. And if Tain was using Elim to solve personal issues, then who else was using the Order in that way? Did the Grand Council also use operatives in this manner? With his memories of his career, Elim was becoming more and more convinced that his work was not doing what was necessary, but rather what his father wanted, and what the Council wanted.

Perhaps what he was doing was not for the good of Cardassia, but for the good of his father, and the Council, and all those who wanted to exploit inequality for their own benefit. 

“Elim, _please,”_ Kelas begged, and Elim could take no more. He got up from his chair, and nearly ran to Kelas’ side of the room. He fell to his knees in front of them, fumbling to untie their hands, eyes wet, heart nearly beating out of his chest, head aching from the sound of his dearest partner _weeping,_ sobbing over what he’d nearly done, oh _fates-_

 _“_ Kelas,” he said, voice thick from grief. “Kelas, I am so _sorry-”_

Kelas only cried harder, and pulled their hands from the restraints to grab his own. They gripped his hands in a death grip, pulling him closer, and Elim let their foreheads fall together, and found himself _crying_ alongside Kelas. What kind of person was he to harm Kelas like this? What kind of person was he to harm _anyone_ like this? Kelas’ head slid from his forehead to his shoulder, and he raised his arms to embrace them. 

What had he done? 

Oh _fates,_ what had he _done?_

BREAK

Getting Kelas out of the barracks had been more difficult than Elim had imagined. When Kelas had been in a state strong enough to stand, they had been shaky and off-balance - their walking stick was nowhere to be found, and Elim needed to act like a sort of crutch to allow them to leave in a stately kind of shuffle. Pyrhas had seen them leave, and had opened his mouth to speak up, but one look from Elim forced the protest to die in his throat, and he let them leave the barracks unscathed. Once out on the grounds, Elim did not need to figure out which direction to take his love - across the grass, Julian sprinted towards them, looking harried. 

“The plan's in motion,” Julian gasped out as soon as he reached them. “Kira's started the final push to capture the city- Kelas, is Kelas alright-?” 

“No.” Elim said. “Interrogation. Take their other side - we need to get them somewhere safe.” 

“Sokoa's got a carriage for us - this way-”

Between the two of them, they managed to hurry Kelas across the grounds to the back of the house. Sokoa waited with a carriage - an unrecognizable one, not one of Tain's, with the luggage rack stacked with three trunks, for the three of them. On the driver's seat, Sokoa's own bag of belongings sat, behind two riding hounds. Sokoa and Elim moved Kelas into the carriage, while Julian rooted around in his own trunk for something. He returned with a blanket and Kukulaka the teddy bear, both of which were packed around Kelas. Kelas smiled a little at the fuzzy bear, and Elim could not help the small amount of relief that bubbled inside him at the sight of that smile. 

“The rebellion's making good headway,” Sokoa said, as soon as Kelas was settled. “They're heading here - if you want a clean escape, we need to leave within the next ten minutes.” 

“There are still slaves below,” Julian replied. “I can get them out.” 

“My father is upstairs,” Elim added. “I must see him-” 

“After everything?” Julian looked concerned rather than angry. 

“He's my _father_. I can't leave him to die at the hands of the rebels-” 

Julian lay a hand on his elbow. “Go. I'll come and get you if you're not back in five minutes.” 

Elim pressed kisses to both Julian and Kelas, turning and reentering the house. The building was weirdly empty, a state Elim had never seen it be in - there had always been a servant or three doing _something…_ He quickly made his way to the second floor, but as he crossed the ballroom, he paused by the window, and looked outside. Elim couldn't see anything at first, but he soon heard the rebels approaching, long before he saw them. A veritable mob of people, armed, jeered and shouted anthems as they crowded around the gates. The gates were unmanned, the guards having fled, and Elim knew it would not be long before they broke them down. His first response, of course, was panic. His eyes found Julian rounding up any of the remaining staff and slaves and make for the river. Kelas seemed to have recovered somewhat, and was speaking with Sokoa, watching the proceedings with concern. They were safe, he told himself. They would be safe. 

But there was no time to lose, something Elim became aware of as a bottle of flames hurled from the mob smashed on the grass of the front courtyard, setting the grass alight. Elim walked up the stairs, to meet the oncoming storm that was his father, who must've finally realised his loss. As he climbed the stairs for possibly the last time, he heard the rattle of the front gates, groaning and keening, as the protestor pushed against them. There was an almighty crash the moment Elim lay his hand on his father's door, followed by a cheer - the gates had fallen, and Elim was certain the protestors were now charging the grounds. 

“Father!” he called out, entering the office. From outside, Elim could hear the clashes of protesters and whatever guards were left on site. The office was sustaining more and more damage, as people threw heavy stones and flaming bottles up at the building. But Tain stood in the middle of it all, stoic and stone faced, watching the goings on through the window, even as Garak ran up and tried to pull him away.

“Father, we _must_ leave. The building won't stand much longer. I can get you out the back exit, come-”

“I knew you’d be the one to bring down our family.” Tain said, slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. “I knew your sentimentality would lead to our ruin.” 

“You’ll have plenty of time to lecture me after we’ve gotten out, but right now-”

“I should’ve killed your mother when she told me she was with child. But, I was young too once. I was soft. I wanted a legacy, and it turned out to be my downfall.”

Elim couldn’t take this any longer, letting out a frustrated yell. “I’ve only ever done what you asked of me! I let you make me into whatever you wanted, without any regard to whether what you were doing was right, or just, or-”

Tain spun around to face him, fixing Elim with his cold grey gaze. “You always were a greedy thing. Always wanting more, always asking for things far beyond what you deserved. I knew from the moment you got involved with that _sark_ and that _Cheðaite_ that it would be the end of you, I knew it!”

Even as the temperature continued to rise, Elim felt like someone had thrown ice cold water in his face. “Don’t- Don’t say that…” He muttered, at once hating his father for his words and hating himself for not being able to do more to stop him. 

Tain didn’t pay attention, though, and drew closer, and Elim found it difficult to avert his gaze. “You betrayed me, Elim. Your own father. “ Finally, he turned around and threw his hands up. ”Everyone betrayed me! When all I’ve done was try to make Cardassia a better place.” 

Somewhere, a loud crack indicated that a structure somewhere in the grounds was collapsing. Elim took a desperate step forward. “Father, for the last time, we need to leave.” He hissed, tail twitching madly with agitation.

Tain shook his head slowly. “I may be your father… but you are _not_ my son.” 

He was nearly about to lunge at the man when someone called his name from behind, grabbing his shoulders to restain him. “Elim, no! He’s not worth it…” Julian’s voice pleaded through the hiss of anger in his voice.

“He won't come,” Elim murmured. “Julian, he won't-” 

“I know, Elim,” Julian took his hand, clearly afraid. “Elim, please. There's no time. Let us help you, for _once_.” 

He came. Julian came _for him_. Something his father had never done. He took one last look at Tain, the castellan, keeper of the Old Cardassia, before allowing himself to be pulled out of the office. 

They took the stairs down two at a time. Down down, first the staircase in the servant's quarters, into the ballroom, down and down until he reached the entrance hall. The smoke choked his lungs as they descended, and he knew the ash would linger between his scales for days. His claustrophobia clawed up his throat like a monster, but he refused to stop, and he breathed through it as they burst onto the back veranda, and into the makeshift _korta_ courts. Julian still held his hand with a vice like grip, and did not let go until they were both bundled into the carriage. 

“Elim, Julian! Are you alright? Let me-” Even after what had happened, Kelas was patting him, checking he was alright, caring for him. Elim caught one of their hands, and one of Julian's, and just _clung_ , trembling and afraid, almost crying, not knowing what was going to happen next. The carriage jerked, and lurched into fast movement - Sokoa clearly wanted to get them out before the rioters noticed them. Elim turned to take one last look at the house, and was horrified to see flames climb up the walls of the house, the rioters hurling stones at the place he once called home, the seat of Cardassia's Obsidian Order and the rotten core that kickstarted the Bajoran crisis. 

Elim closed his eyes. The image of the burning house would haunt the back of his eyelids for many days to come. 


	27. Chapter 27

Kardasi’or was a war zone for days. The broadcasts warned people not to leave their homes unless absolutely necessary, though it would have been difficult to hear the radio amidst the clashes between the military and the dissident groups. The violence inspired other protests, in places like Lakat and Lakari'or, even as far north as Nokar and Indar. Within these days, the Great Houses collapsed, their heads and heirs fleeing, surrendering, or outright being killed. The slaves were free, and on the horizon a new Cardassia was dawning from the ruins. Bajor was helping those stolen return home, and the Federation had begun to move in, tidying and pulling together relief efforts for the displaced. 

In the cellar of an art gallery in Lakat, the only legitimate heir of Tain sat in a plush armchair, preparing to face this bright new world. And she was _terrified_. 

In the natural gloominess of the cellar, Ziyal waited for the sign that meant she would have to leave. The cellar had become her sanctuary after she and Ezri had fled their home after the outbreak of violence. Ziyal had no idea if anything was left, or what damage had been caused - all she knew was that by birthright, she was now leader of Cardassia, and she very much did not want to be. She'd heard nothing from her brother, but from reports she'd gathered that he and his partners, Kelas and Julian, had escaped, for which she was glad. But even knowing that did not stop the nightmares of the fire and the violence in her home city. 

Beside her, Ezri pressed a folded sheet of paper into her hand. “Your speech.”

“I… I can’t do this. I - I-..” Ziyal stuttered, eyes unfocused, trying not to focus her hearing on the sounds of the riot that haunted her mind still. 

Ezri took her face in both of her hands, looking into her eyes. “Listen to me, Z. You can do it. I know how brave you are. And I think you do too.” She said, her voice resolute. 

“I- you'll be with me? Please?” Ezri kissed her then, and Ziyal clutched the paper tighter. “Ezri, what if-” 

“Shh. Shhh.” Ezri kissed her again, and again. “It's a new world out there, Ziyal. They're ready for you.”

There was a rattle coming from above, and the latch to the cellar door slid open. Kira poked her head into the door of the cellar, breathless. “We’ve taken the radio tower, and a few of our own have patched it to work. But we don't know how long the workarounds will hold - if we’re gonna do this, we have to do it _now_.” 

Ziyal took Ezri’s hand. “I'm ready.”

They emerged from the gallery into broad daylight, where, for once, the sky was clear of smoke and dust. The unrest in Lakat had not been as violent as that which occured in Kardasi'or, but it was still visible - burnt out carriages, remnants of barricades, half destroyed buildings, and the stains of bodies the clean up team hadn't quite managed to get out. Kira and a small band of rebels acted as an escort for Ezri and Ziyal, but there really was no need - the streets were almost deserted, and the only other group they saw were a mix of Bajoran and Cardassian volunteers, attempting to throw sand on a still smouldering wreck. 

Ziyal did not let go of Ezri's hand until they had climbed the tower and reached the broadcast room. With visible regret, Ezri pressed one last kiss to her cheek, before retreating to behind the recording screen, leaving Ziyal alone to face the silver microphone. This was it. This was the moment she had been dreading and hoping for. 

She took a deep breath, and exhaled. Time to tell Cardassia there was a new world waiting. 

Across the territory, on the Indar Peninsula, Elim Garak drifted in and out of sleep on the spare bed that Kelas’ brother had offered them, being comforted by his partners, and like the rest of Cardassia, he began to catch the transmission on the battered old radio. 

“Kelas? Julian?” Elim murmured, his hands tightening on the hips of his bed partners. “I think I'm hearing voices. I swore I just heard-”

“No.” Kelas said, and their voice shook. “I heard her too- on the radio- I'm _certain-_ ”

“Me too,” Julian added, cautious. “Hold on, let me-” 

Julian leant across the end of the bed, and turned the dial on the radio to tune it properly. The radio crackled, and over the static a familiar voice reached their ears. 

“Cardassia. Turn to me now and listen. I am Ziyal Tain, heir to House Tain-”

“It _is_ Ziyal!” Elim exclaimed. “Oh thank fates, she _survived_ -” 

“My father, your Castellan, is no more.” Here there was a pause, and he thought he could hear a brief touch of sorrow in her voice. “To many of you, Enabran Tain was the embodiment of the state, for better or worse. He was Cardassia, or so he thought. But his Cardassia is not, and does not need to be _our_ Cardassia. Because Cardassia is more than the Castellan, it is more than his web of lies, it is more even than the Detapa Council and the Ministers. Cardassia is an _idea_ , separate from the machine of the state that realizes it. And I think it is time, my fellow citizens, to consider what kind of idea we want to give rise to, together.”

There was another pause. 

“But, I am not the person to lead you all to this new vision of our proud country. That person should be one who loves Cardassia more than anything else, perhaps more even than he loves himself.” 

Elim froze, heart pounding. Surely she _couldn't_ mean… 

“I hereby abdicate my position as Head of House Tain, leaving it to my brother, Elim Garak.” 

Kelas and Julian looked at him, then at each other, dumbfounded. Elim took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Several things rearranged themselves in his mind. Ziyal’s voice faded away into static again, replaced again by the emergency measures that had been on loop for the last few days. Elim sat up and turned the radio off. 

“Well…” He began, after a few moments of silence filled the small room. “I guess I _have_ been pondering my next career move.”

His little joke did not hide the clear fear in his voice. Kelas sighed before nuzzling into his side. “I guess this means a quiet retirement here in Indar is out of the question?”

Julian smirked, wrapping his arms around Elim’s shoulders. “Actually, I think he would be quite good at it. I can think of no one better, in fact.” “Thank you for your vote of confidence, Julian.” Elim quipped. “Though I don't know if the people will accept an ex-assassin as the new leader of the free world.” 

“Then you should show them why you deserve the position.” Julian said. “You know the worst Cardassia to be. Shape it to be better.”

“We'll be there if you take a wrong turn.” Kelas murmured. “You can build yourself checks and balances, build a healthy Cardassian government. I might even forego retirement to see that.” 

Feeling inordinately touched, he turned to Kelas then Julian, and pressed a warm kiss to each of their foreheads. “I’m afraid I can’t promise either of you a _retirement_ or an idle life just yet, _ðurha-tsüärha_ ,” he murmured. ‘But politics can wait for a little while. Let us join the clean up efforts first. And afterwards, I have another idea…” 

BREAK

The sea around Indar crashed onto the coast, vigorous and vital. Julian smiled into the warm sunlight, before turning back to the letter he had been trying to write for the past half an hour. 

_Hello Mother & Father, I hope this letter finds you well. You will have doubtless heard of the unrest here in Cardassia even as far away as you are, so I am writing to say that everyone is fine. Castellan Tain is dead - I hope he sent you the dowry before he passed on. His legal heir, Ziyal, abdicated as soon as it was announced, and now Elim is - _A loud shriek interrupted his thoughts, and he looked up just as Ezri tackled Ziyal into the surf, both of them laughing madly. 

“Get- Oof, get off, you’re heavy!” Ezri protested as Ziyal pinned her into the sand.

“Really? I feel light as a feather.”

Julian grinned as he watched the scene unfold, then returned to his letter.

_\- working hard to undo the damage his father’s rule had done, and I think we are really going to change things for the better. I understand that you were worried about me leading up to this marriage, but I wanted to write to let you know that-_

__

__

__The even rise and fall of Elim’s ribcage under his head stopped, and he felt the scales shift. Behind him, the new head of the Cardassian Union stirred from his nap, and Julian smiled lazily, brushing a lock of raven-black hair away from his face. “Welcome back.”

“This sunlight is really much too strong for me, honestly…” Elim mumbled, crawling over under the shade of the umbrella, where Kelas was sitting, deeply absorbed in a novel. “Kelas, I’m dying. I’ve been burnt to a crisp.”

“You’re fine,” Kelas said, laying a hand on Elim’s back but not looking up. Elim pouted and patted the blanket in front of him, inviting Julian to rejoin them. He accepted happily, laying his head down in Kelas’ lap and draping his long legs over Elim’s hips. “I’m not _fine_. I had a dream that I was delivering a speech in front of the Detapa Council only none of my clothes matched,” Elim explained.

Kelas raised an eye ridge and looked up from their book. “How dreadful. Then again, you’d cut a striking figure in a burlap sack, as far as I’m concerned.” 

Julian laughed, and joined in. “Fates, a burlap sack may be too fashionable still. I think that Elim would look good wearing _absolutely nothing_.” He mused, winking at Elim, who had crossed his arms over his chest in slight annoyance. 

“Honestly, the both of you are incorrigible.” 

Julian exchanged a knowing glance with Kelas before drifting close, claiming Elim’s pouting lips in a soft kiss. “But you love us anyway…” he breathed when they broke apart, looking into the bright blue eyes of his Enjoined. He thought back to the ceremony, how transfixed he was by those eyes, how they seemed both comforting and unnerving. But now, he found only light. 

Elim turned then, rising up on one elbow to reach Kelas, passing on Julian’s kiss like it was a coded message. Julian felt Kelas shift underneath him, felt the arousal they felt for Elim mirrored in his own, and he tilted up his head to watch. And then, finally, as if completing a cycle, Kelas leant down to kiss Julian, and he might as well have melted into a puddle right there on the beach. 

He must’ve drifted off for a few minutes, because when he opened his eyes again, Ziyal and Ezri were sitting with them again, a bowl of bright red scale-berries placed on the blanket for everyone to share. A lively discussion was taking place amongst the four of them about the relative merits of two Cardassian writers. 

Smiling, Julian reached for his letter, and finished it.

_-I wanted to let you know that I am very happy here. I feel like I have finally made something of myself, made a difference, and I did it surrounded by people who love me._

_Your son,_

_Julian._


End file.
